How We Gonna Pay?: A RENT Fan-fic
by TLRAMP
Summary: "We begin...again." Starts where the musical left off. I'm not near done, but give it a look-see, and check back often! Enjoy. :-)
1. We Begin...Again

((All characters are Jonathan Larson's. I've written a completely original story here and it's taken me a while – in fact, it's still in the works, and I plan to make it a continuously ongoing project – to write, so I'd appreciate any comments or suggestions you might have. Thanks, and enjoy!))

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**"How We Gonna Pay?"**: A RENT Fan-fic

  
"Good morning, shnookums," came a high-pitched voice, tickling Roger's ear and a pair of thin hands messing his hair.   
"What...? What time is it?"   
"It's _morning_, hence the term: _good morning_."   
"Sorry, the shnookums threw me off."   
Roger pulled the covers over his head, burying himself in the warmth and trying to block out the annoying voice of his best friend Mark, who seemed to be a morning person today.   
"C'mon, pookie, get up," cooed Mark, throwing the covers off Roger's body. "Oo, nice pj's, pal. Lovin' the little music notes!"   
"Shut up."   
"Get up. We've got work to do."   
"W-work?"   
"Geez, get up already!"   
Mark grabbed Roger's arm and pulled him up to a sitting position.   
"Okay, okay, I'm up!" Roger scratched his head, opening his eyes hazily, revealing the already dressed form of Mark, camera in hand, filming. "Oh, please, no photographs," he continued sarcastically, placing a palm over the lens. "What's the deal, Mark? Wait...where'd Mimi go?"   
Mark shrugged, putting the camera down and taking a seat on the table across from Roger's bed, crossing one leg over the other. "She said she had some stuff to do. C'mon, get your ass out of bed so we can get a move on."   
"She didn't say where she was going?"   
Mark rolled his eyes. "Stop being jealous and get dressed." He moved, bending to pick up a shirt and threw it at Roger, hitting him in the face. He repeated the gesture with pants as well.   
"Hey, stop! Okay, fine, I'm getting dressed.... I just wish I knew where she went."   
Mark made a few loud, false coughs under his breath, whispering, "Obsessive..."   
"I mean, she's always going off and I don't know where..."   
"Let me say that louder, so you can hear: obsessive."   
Roger glared slipping his pants on and zipping them, taking his seat again on the bed to throw on the shirt. "Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot we had a relationship expert in the house!" He stood and gave a mock bow. "Bonjour, Monsieur Cohen! What might I do to win the affections of my dearest love? Do tell!" He batted his eyelashes, puckering his lips.   
"Ha ha, that's hilarious, Roger. Your charms are wasted on straight men, however. Call Collins, if that's what you're after."   
"Ouch, bitter.... You two still fighting?"   
"Yeah...."   
A week earlier, Collins had gone out with a guy who was bad in every sense of the word. He treated Collins like shit, making him do whatever he wanted. The man gained a slave. Collins lost his heart.   
Mark had attempted to tell Collins what he thought of his new man, but Collins wouldn't hear of it. He said he was happy and Mark was trying to ruin that for him. They hadn't talked since.   
"Okay, so what's the deal with this work we're going to do?" Roger asked, changing the subject as he placed his shoes on.   
"I got us jobs, can you believe it?"   
"No, I can't.... If you say it's at a Cyber Studio, I'll kill you."   
"Oh, hell no, Roger! Benny's still a sellout. No changing that. No, no, I got us jobs that are worthwhile."   
"Hmm..... Worthwhile jobs?" Roger grinned, standing to his feet, dressed. "The strip club need some more male dancers?" He gyrated his hips and shoulders, winking at Mark.   
"Wow, don't quit your day job, Roger."   
"What day job?"   
"Touché. Let's get outta here." Mark stood, picking up his camera.   
"But...where--"   
"I'll explain on the way. If I tell you, you won't go."   
"Oh, I see.... Wait, can I page Mimi first?"   
"No."   
Roger rolled his eyes, leaping for the phone, but Mark pulled it away before he even had the chance. "You'll get to make the call when you take the job."   
"That's blackmail."   
"I know." Mark smirked, dangling the phone just out of Roger's reach.   
"You know, I could wrestle the phone from you, easily."   
"What would be the fun in that?" Mark set the phone down and pushed Roger out the door. "C'mon, shnookums!"   
As they walked out the door, Roger's voice echoed down the hallway. "Stop calling me that!"   
  
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Mimi took a deep breath, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head, her mind wracked with nerves. What would Roger think? How could she tell him?   
Her black leather dress showed most of her beautifully tanned legs and her normal leopard-print boots made a soft clicking noise against the hard black marble floor. Her long-sleeved tan shirt showcased the words 'hot stuff'. She walked past a secretary and raised her fist to knock on the door.   
"Hey, you there! You can't just go in there!" It was the voice of the annoyed secretary as she stood, grabbing Mimi's arm and pushing her away from the door. "Get out of here, unless you have an appointment."   
"Look, Miss...uhhh..." Mimi leaned in, checking the woman's nametag. "Miss Gleason.... Hey, any relation to Jackie?" No response. "Never mind..."   
"Do you have an appointment or not?"   
"No, but I'm a close friend of hers."   
"Oh, I'm sure you are.... Now, please, leave the premises at once."   
Mimi shook the woman's hand off her harshly, turning and knocking against the door anyway.   
"You can't do that!" Screeched the secretary, fluttering about anxiously. "You just can't--"   
"Watch me, sister," Mimi sneered, grinning.   
After a few knocks, the large black woman with thick red glasses leering off her nose appeared at the door, angered until she noticed Mimi's timid form before her.   
"Mimi!"   
"Hey, Joanne. Can I come in for a minute?" They embraced, smiling.   
"Yeah, sure, hun. I'm kinda busy, but I can spare a few moments. Is Roger here too?"   
"Nope. Just Mimi," she said with a smile.   
The secretary seated herself, folding her arms in a huff, watching as the two disappeared into Joanne's office.   
"So, what do you think? Nice, huh? That's what they give me for spending half a lifetime in school, taking bar exams and giving my soul to the firm."   
"It's nice. Never seen a better office... Hey, you even got a view!"   
"Yeah, of the slums," Joanne laughed. "So, what's up?"   
"Oh.... I just thought I'd come and see you. Ya know, see what's up and all...."   
Joanne placed a hand on her hip, raising a brow and shaking her head. "Yeah right. You've never come to visit me here. Uh oh...Something's wrong...."   
"What? No…. Nothing...."   
"Yeah, something's wrong. What happened?" Joanne moved closer to Mimi, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Something to do with Roger?"   
Mimi looked up at her and sighed. "You're the only person I can talk to, Joanne...."   
"Aw, honey, I know.... Here, have a seat." She ushered Mimi to the chair at her desk as she sat on the edge of the table. "Just tell me, what's wrong?"   
Mimi swallowed. "You can't say anything to anyone.... Not yet, anyway...."   
"Okay. I won't."   
Mimi turned those bright eyes to Joanne and gave a half smile. "I'm pregnant."   
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
"Okay, so what is this secret job, Mark?"   
"Just wait. Only half a block to go."   
Roger sighed. "Fine.... So, where do you think Mimi went off to?"   
"How should I know? I'm only the relationship expert, remember?"   
Roger shoved his hands in his pockets, mulling along next to Mark, watching his feet as he walked. "Benny hasn't been around lately, has he?"   
Mark turned his head and saw Roger's depressed stance. They came up to a crosswalk and stopped as Mark shrugged. "Yeah. I guess I should tell you they've been having mindless sex for the past three weeks now."   
"What?" Roger turned towards Mark, his eyes wide.   
"Oh yeah. It was a secret. Whips, chocolate sauce, handcuffs...you name it, they use it. He tells me it's the greatest."   
"Really?!"   
Mark's eyes narrowed and he shook his head, smacking Roger. "No! Geez, were you taking me seriously?"   
Roger began breathing again as they started to walk once more. "Yeah...."   
"She's got you all worked up. You should see yourself! You're a mess!"   
"I know. I can't help it. She's been very absent lately. Always leaving at the wrong moments, slipping out of bed in the middle of the night." He sighed. "I know; I'm overreacting."   
"Well, don't think about it for a few minutes, okay?"   
"Yeah."   
"We're he-ere!" Mark beamed, ushering Roger into the building before he even got a glance at the name of the place. "Okay, now be presentable."   
Roger laughed. "I'm always presentable, darling."   
"Oh no, no joking now, Roger."   
"Who's joking, honey-buns?" He pursed his lips.   
Mark rolled his eyes. "Shut up or I'll call up Benny and give him Mimi's new number."   
Roger was silent then.   
They walked across the foyer to the desk that sat at the end of it, flowers and plants adorning its mahogany top.   
"Wow," Roger muttered quietly. "What've you gotten me into?"   
"Just wait. Relax."   
Roger surveyed the two long hallways to either side of the desk, dark and gloomy and yet bright in their own way. The ceiling was paneled with a few dim lights hanging like baskets from various locations. Roger leaned against the desk and glanced down at the stationary: "Deep Pen Movies". He wondered what a movie studio, a cheap one at that, would want with him and Mark. Strange...   
"Hey, I'm Mark Cohen and this is Roger Davis. We have an appointment."   
"Yes, go right in. It's the third door down this left hallway."   
Mark smiled. "Yep. I remember. Thanks."   
The woman behind the desk smiled, brushing back her short blonde curls, those blue eyes of hers sparkling from behind square silver-rimmed glasses. "Any time, Mr. Cohen."   
Mark laughed, leading Roger away. "Call me Mark. I hate Mr. Cohen."   
"Okay...Mark." She smiled again as her phone rang. It took her a few minutes to realize this before she jumped for the phone, answering and clearing her throat at the same time. "Hello, Deep Pen Movies. My name's Cindi, how may I help you?"   
Mark almost giggled, as they walked down the long corridor. Roger grinned, elbowing Mark in his side.   
Roger mimicked, poorly, a woman's voice, "Oh, Mr. Cohen! Down three doors to my left." He puckered his lip, sighing loudly and pretending to brush back locks of hair.   
"Shut up."   
Roger laughed, patting Mark on the back. "You're blushing. You should ask her out."

"Yeah, yeah.... Let's just get this thing done first, okay?"   
"Fine." Roger grinned as they neared the door. "If you don't ask her, I'll do it for you."   
Before Mark could argue, Roger pushed the door open and they walked in. A thin, lanky man with dark black hair and deep-set dark eyes stood before them, offering a welcoming smile.   
"Oh my God," Roger mumbled, his eyes widening and slowly returning to normal as he returned the smile, shaking his head. "Jonathan?"   
"Hey," whispered the other man, coming to stand next to him.   
They stared at each other for a few silent minutes before they hugged, patting each other on the back.   
"How the hell are you, Roger?"   
"I'm good. You?"   
"Couldn't be better."   
They moved away from each other and Jonathan moved to shake hands with Mark.   
"Hey, Jon," said Mark quietly, smiling.   
"Hey. I see you brought your camera."   
"Never without it."   
"Ah, same 'ole Mark."   
They all laughed and Jonathan sighed, leaning against his desk, waving his hand to the two seats before him. "C'mon, have a seat, boys."   
"Boys?" Roger asked, shaking his head with a laugh. "Speak for yourself. I'm a man. Mark, however..." Again, they all laughed. A moment of silence followed until Roger spoke up again. "H-how's the family?"   
"They're all good. How's yours?"   
Roger shrugged. "My mom calls once a year or so...."   
"You should call her."   
"I...I can't. Old problems..."   
"Yeah, I understand. So, I hear you've found a new girl. Is it true?"   
Roger swallowed, shaking his head warily, wondering if he should really answer it.   
"It's okay, Roger. You needed to move on from April. My sister was a wonderful girl, and I know it was hard for you when she died."   
"Hard is not that word, Jon."   
"Well, my point is, I'm glad you're not dwelling on it. The whole family needs to move on. I'm glad you have."   
Roger smiled. "Thanks."   
Mark cleared his throat and spoke, "So, why don't we get to business. I'm sure Roger wants to know why I brought him here."   
Jonathan laughed. "You didn't tell him?"   
"Naw, where's the fun in that?"   
Roger rolled his eyes, leaning back in the chair.   
"Well, let me explain then. A while back I got into the movie business and I was doing some pretty neat little films for television stations. They were small and nothing compared to Fox, ABC, or any of those big stations, but they were enough to land me more jobs like them. Anyway, I eventually got enough money that I wanted to do something with it. I decided on making a movie studio of my own where we take normal people and their stories. Your friend Mark here was my first choice, but I never did get a hold of him. Last week, I met him by accident on the street and we had a good talk. So, we're producing one of his movies."   
Roger smiled brightly, nodding. "That's great, Jon! What does that have to do with me, though?"   
"Ah, that's the beauty of Mark's movie. It's in need of a soundtrack. Since his movie is about his life and friends and what happens between them, I suggested you provide the music. Anything original -- from rock to sappy ballads; whatever floats your boat."   
"Wow, really?"   
Mark grinned. "And you can use that song you wrote for Mimi for the end of it."   
Roger shook his head, speechless.   
"What do you say, Roger?"   
"Y-yeah! I'm lovin' this! I can't believe it...."   
Jonathan laughed. "Well, get out of my office and get writing!"   
Roger stumbled to his feet, his smile spreading across his face until he beamed. "I'm going, I'm going."   
"Well, just call me when it's done. I'd like it within two months time, but if you need more, don't hesitate to let me know. Hey, and give your mom a call."   
Roger shrugged. "I'll see what I can do."   
"Talk to you two later."   
"See ya."   
"Bye," called Mark as they walked out of the small office shutting the door behind him.   
"Wow. Can you believe Jon owns this place?"   
"I know, hard to grasp, huh?"   
They made their way down the dark hallway again, and they came up to the front desk again. Roger laughed as Mark attempted to go straight out the door.   
"Uh uh, loverboy," Roger whispered, pushing Mark towards the desk with such force that he ended up hitting it head on, knocking over one of the plants that sat there.   
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry!" Mark cried, leaning over the front to help her pick it up.   
"No, it's my fault. I was...uhh...not paying much attention to...."   
Mark laughed and soon they were both laughing. After a few seconds they had picked up the plant and had it sitting down on her desk like normal.   
"Well, I guess I'd better be off now...."   
Roger rolled his eyes, jumping beside Mark. "What he's saying is--"   
"Roger!"   
"--that he'd love to take you out sometime...say, Friday night?"   
Mark hung his head, biting his lip, smiling.   
"Oh...." whispered Cindi, blushing too. "Would you tell Mark that I'd love to, or can I tell him myself?"   
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Mimi's talk with Joanne had only lasted a few minutes, but it had been well worth every second. She knew that Joanne would give good advice and she had. _Just sit down and have a good talk with Roger tonight_, she had told Mimi. _I'm sure he'll be so happy about this! I mean, it's a special bond of love between you two._

As Mimi strolled down the crowded streets of NYC, she smiled happily, humming a little tune to herself. She hardly realized that she bumped into a man with a light leather jacket and suede boots until he spoke to her, stopping her to face him.

"Hey there, stranger!"

"Hey…Collins!" She beamed even brighter now. "It's been a while, huh?"

"Well, with Mark and I fighting and Roger and you…well, always _busy_, where's a guy like me to go?" He smiled. "How are you?"

"Better than ever! What about you?"

"I'm…uhh…doing…"

"What's up? Something wrong?"

"I broke up with Trevor last night."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, Mark will be happy to hear that he was right. Is there ever a time when he's not right?"

"Nope. He's good with advice, as long as it's to anyone else but the one who needs it most."

"Himself!" they both added.

"Speaking of Mark, where is he? And Roger too?"

She shrugged. "I headed out early this morning before Roger was awake. Who knows, now?"

"Well, I'm stopping off to visit the market and ATM. Care to accompany me, milady?" He gave a low, regal bow, offering his arm.

She curtsied with a giggle. "Sorry, no can-do. I've got to get back home and talk to Roger. Will you be joining us later?"

"If Mark'll have me…."

"He will. He may be stubborn, obsessive, hypocritical and opinionated, but he's always a good friend."

"You can say that again," Collins replied with a smile. "I'll see ya there then in…say a half an hour?"

"Okay."

"Oh, by the way, I saw Benny a few blocks down the way you're heading. Be forewarned."

She laughed. "Thanks. I'll try to dodge all the hot dog venders, in that case."

"All right. See ya in a few."

"Ditto." 

They walked off in opposite directions briskly. Mimi's eyes glanced about in all directions. The last thing she wanted was to talk to Benny. She hadn't spoken to him in a few months now, ever since he moved in with Allison in some swanky palace of a house in New Jersey. Of course, he'd kept calling her until she switched numbers, but he could always get it from Mark in one of his sneaky ways.

"Mimi?" came a soft whisper from her right. There stood Benny, dressed in a thick tan trench coat with a red turtleneck and khaki pants underneath. "Long time no see. You changed your number."

"Hey, Benny…." She hardly knew what to say. It wasn't pleasant running into him ever, and not now especially when she had just found out such wonderful news.

"What, no salutations? No long embraces?"

"I said hello, didn't I?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Mimi. I haven't kicked your pals out of their lodging or demanded their rent as of yet, so why am I the bad guy?"

She shrugged. "Pick a reason."

"Still bitter, huh? C'mon, that's ancient history, babe. Besides, what makes you think I haven't changed?"

"Have you?"

"Perhaps. You can be the judge."

"You won't like my answers."

"Aw, gimmie a chance, Mimi. C'mon, is one hug gonna kill ya?"

"Umm…"

"Okay fine. How 'bout a handshake?"

"That I can do."

He held out his hand and she took it warily. Before she knew it, he pulled her close and embraced her tightly, but it was pleasant enough that she didn't mind it.

"You grope you die," she whispered with a laugh.

"My hands have a mind of their own, hun. I can't control 'em!" He smirked, letting her go. "See? I'm not such a tyrannical asshole, huh?"

"I'll give you time to go back to your old Benny ways."

He laughed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, how are you?"

She smiled brightly, almost beaming with pride. "Couldn't be any better if I wished it."

"Oh-ho! Still with Roger?" She nodded. "Is that the reason?"

"Sort of."

"Ah, I'm understanding now." He smiled. "Congratulations, if it's what I think it is."

"And what's that?" she asked, teasing with a wry grin.

"I sense a little love-making has brought about the echoes of little feet down the hallway…. Perhaps a tiny Mimi or a Roger Jr.?"

She nodded and placed a thin finger over her lips. "Sh, you can't tell anyone." She giggled. "Say, what's with you? You _are_ being nice."

"You act like that's unnatural," he pouted.

"Well, no offense Ben, but you were an asshole for about a year and a half. I seem to recall a certain incident where the loft was padlocked."

"I recall other events…. Angel's funeral, ring a bell?"

She smiled genuinely. "That was a nice thing you did. Collins is still grateful, I know."

"Speaking of Collins, I just ran into him. He looks terrible!"

"Yeah…. Long story."

"Well, I don't have the time to hear it, unfortunately. I'll be coming by Mark and Roger's later. Will you be there?"

"I live there now, remember?"

"Oh yeah…. I always forget they give half the city of New York free housing at _my_ expense."

"Benny…."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll see ya later." They embraced again and he patted her behind harshly with a laugh as he walked away. "I told you they had a mind of their own!"

She laughed in spite of herself and turned to continue the way home, alone. So Benny could be a nice guy. Who would have thought?


	2. See If Anything Comes Of It

"Roger, calm down!" cried Mark helplessly, attempting to steady Roger as he paced frantically in the middle of a Starbucks Café.

"If she wants Benny, let her have him!"

"I'm sure it's all just a –"

"If you say misunderstanding, I'll punch you."

"Hey, saw-ry! Don't take it out on me. You're overreacting, as usual."

"Don't start with me, Mark. I'm not in the mood for your reproaches."

"It's the truth. You should talk to her before you jump to conclusions."

"He was grabbing her, Mark! What else do I need to see to tell me all my suspicions are correct?"

"How about proof? That could've been a friendly pat…. Like a… 'how are you' pat." While turning on his camera, Mark jokingly slapped Roger's butt with a loud laugh, but soon realized the people in the café didn't find it funny.

"Hey, queer, we don't need any of _that_ here," called a man behind the counter that Mark could only assume was the manager.

"Hey, sorry, sir…. I was only –"

"Buy something or get out. If you wanna be gay, do it _outside_ my store."

"Watch it pal!" retorted Roger angrily, stepping forward. "You have no right to say that to him!"

"Get out or be escorted: your choice."

"Fuck you!"

"Roger, calm down!" Lowering the camera, Mark tried to place a hand on Roger's shoulder but he shook it off harshly, glaring.

"Mark, shut up!" He turned back to the manager angrily. "You got a problem with us?"

"I don't want no trouble from you guys. C'mon, do as your pal over there says and get out of my café."

"To hell with you!" Roger screamed, stomping out of the store and slamming the door behind him.

Mark stood helplessly in the center of the room, all eyes upon him. He cleared his throat and slinked out with a whisper of "I'm sorry" to the manager. Once outside, he saw Roger waiting for him, his arms folded and an angry glare being shot straight towards him.

"You're such a hypocrite!" he shouted, his eyes narrowing. "And turn off that damn camera!"

Mark fumbled, turning it off. "What are you talking about? You just saved your own ass in there! If you would've stayed –"

"What, something good might've happened? Something to better humanity? That guy's a fuckin' homophobe and you're just gonna stand there and take it?"

"Roger, we're not gay…."

"Does that make any difference? Damn it, Mark! That's why you and Collins don't get along anymore. You've changed. You used to stand up and fight for what you believed in. I guess not anymore…."

"C'mon Roger, I'm up for gay rights as much as you are, but that would've turned into a brawl for no reason." Mark paused, searching Roger's face as they began to walk. "What is this really about? First, you're upset at Mimi and Benny and now gay rights? Which is it?"

"I don't wanna talk anymore. I'm breaking it off with Mimi tonight. Benny can go to hell with the rest of the scums of the earth. And as for gay rights…" He trailed off and not another word was said until they reached home.

Mark sighed, pushing open the door and catching sight of Mimi, seated on a folding chair in the middle of the room. She brightened up immensely as she saw Roger. Mark's arm shot out as Roger began to charge forward, stopping him short.

"Hey, don't go making assumptions before you know the facts."

"Screw you –"  
"No!" Mark grabbed Roger's collar, his eyes intensely serious. "Just ask!"

"Fine! Have it your way! I'll ask her before I –"

"Ask me what?" Mimi was standing now right in front of them.

Roger's breath left his body then, feeling her close to him. Mark sensed the sexual tension and retreated slowly with the whisper, "I'll just wait outside."

"So? Whatcha got to ask me, huh?" she asked, playfully tugging on his jacket sleeve like a little child.

"Uhh… I…"

"Can it wait? I've got something to tell you. Or is it very important?"

"It's… It's…" He shook his head, pushing her to get into the room further, finally able to breathe. "Yes, it's very important that I ask you something."

"Oh…Okay, go ahead."

He didn't turn around, but merely let his back face her so he wouldn't have to see those beautiful eyes. "Actually, I've got a few questions…"

"Shoot."

"Where'd you go this morning?"

She grinning, biting her lip, although he couldn't see it. "Somewhere," she answered mysteriously. She was trying to act playful, pretending as if she didn't want to tell him. To him, it came out that she was trying to hide something.

"Where did you go this morning?" he repeated again, coldly.

She narrowed her eyes, sensing something was up. "Roger? What's wrong?"

He spun around, roughing grabbing her arm. "Where the fuck were you, Mimi? I woke up with no one to hug but Mark!"

"Hey, watch it…" came a voice from outside the hallway, which they both ignored.

"W-What?" she stuttered, puzzled, her eyes widening.

"You heard me! Or do I need to repeat it a fourth time?"

"I was out, Roger. You can't keep tabs on me every minute of my life." She struggled to get free, but he persisted.

"Where?"

"Fuck you! What the hell's the matter with you?"

He paused, pushing her arm away and backing up with a smug look of anger imprinted on his features. "How's Benny?"

Her face changed from a complete lack of understanding to a solemn comprehension, almost tauntingly irritated. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You heard me."

"Benny's fine. What are you trying to ask, Roger?"

"So, you talked to him?" he asked, folding his arms, his tone harsh.

"Yeah, I ran into him on the way home from… on the way home…"

"From where?"

She gritted her teeth, eyes studying the floor. "I don't want to tell you. Not now."

"Why the hell not, Mimi? I saw you and Benny!" She looked up, puzzled. He misread the glance as startled. "Yes, that's right! I saw it all! No need to explain, hun. I'd rather just have you out of here, ASAP. Hope you have a happy Thanksgiving!" he added bitterly, turning away from her and fiddling with the strings of his acoustic guitar, which lay on one of the large tables.

Mimi approached him slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, Roger…. Don't you know that I haven't even talked to Benny for weeks, since I changed my number? What's gotten you so upset at me?"

Roger slumped over the guitar, trying to steady himself. God, he loved her. He always seemed to lose his temper for the dumbest reasons, but he'd seen this with his own two eyes, hadn't he? Proof schmoof! He'd _seen_ it!

"Roger…?"

"_What_?" He shook off her hand. "Geez, just go! Unless you can tell me what I saw was false, just get out of here."

"What did you see?"

"Are you _trying_ to torture me?"

"No! Just tell me what the hell you're talking about!"

"You and Benny!" he said, spinning to face her, his eyes wounded. "You and him…"

"What?" she asked tenderly, stepping closer to him and toying with his shirt, her eyes gently imploring him.

"I…uh saw you…"

"Roger," she cooed, stroking his cheek. "I only have eyes for a certain musician-friend of mine who has a problem with jumping to conclusions." Her lithe fingers ran through his hair. "But sometimes he's just so cute that I forgive him for being angry."

Roger was still not convinced completely, but he couldn't pull himself away from her soothing touch. "Swear to me that you two were't…doing anything."

"Oh c'mon Roger!"

"Swear to me." His eyes were intense.

"I swear," she sighed, frowning. "Did you really think I was having some secret affair with Benny? Of all people!"

"But, I saw –"

"Forget what you saw. He was being nice for once. He's changed."

Roger was still skeptical, but he decided she was telling the truth. He desperately wanted to believe her. His arms lifted, wrapping around her waist.

"So, you trust me, huh?" she asked, smiling.

"Uh huh."

"You'd better." She pulled him close and pressed her lips against his, kissing him.

Mark chose that particular moment to walk in, shoving the door open. He grinned, turning back on the camera, narrating quietly to himself. "And now we see the two lovers, who've recently made-_up_ and are now in the process of making _out_. Quite romantic or tragically sickening? Maybe both." He pulled a curtain closed that he had recently put up for moments like these, when Roger and Mimi wanted privacy. Mark hated being the third wheel, but he wasn't about to have Roger move out. He needed the company. Otherwise, he was constantly depressed.

Behind the curtain, Roger and Mimi carried on, while Mark sat down on the table, hearing their noises clearly. He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Hey, you animals back there!"

Roger stuck his head out and nearly giggled. "Ye-es?"

"You wanna come out and get to work? Remember, we're getting paid for this."

Mimi brushed herself off and stepped out first, smiling brightly. "You got jobs?"

"Yep," replied Roger. "Good jobs too."

"Oh, that sort of reminds me, Roger…"

"What?"

"Uhh…look, I have some news to tell you, but I'd rather you were sitting down."

Roger's eyes narrowed suddenly and he straightened himself. "I'll stand."

"Okay. If you want to." She took in a breath and bit her lip. Mark and Roger were staring at her now. "I'm…"

"You're what?" asked Mark, feeling an odd vibe coming from her.

"I'm…pregnant!"

Suddenly there was silence. Roger released a long-held breath and started to sit on the edge of the table then jumped to his feet and then began to pace frantically.

"Oh my God!" he cried.

"You're not happy?" Mimi asked, worried.

"Not happy?" He laughed, turning around and picked her up, spinning her around. "_Not happy?_ How could I be not happy!?" They both laughed as he spun her around the room. All of a sudden, his features distorted to a terrified expression and he took his hands off her, brushing her gently. "Oh geez! How could I have been so stupid? Are you okay? I shouldn't be doing that! Not in your condition!"

Mark laughed and stood up, hugging Mimi. "Congrats, Mimi."

"Are you happy for me – _us_?" she asked, pinching his cheek.

"Of course," Mark said, forcing a smile, although he was not happy at all and would make a point of talking to Roger – alone – the first chance he got.

Roger pushed Mark out of the way and began to touch Mimi's stomach, but stopped, backing away. Mimi laughed gently.

"You won't hurt me by touching me, Roger."

"Oh, I know…I mean, I just didn't want… I wanted to…"

"I know. You're cute when you're nervous." She smirked, messing with his hair. With her free hand she guided him to her stomach and let him feel her.

His face turned to a saddened smile, one of so much happiness that he didn't know what to do first. "Gosh, Mimi…."

"Is that all you've got to say?" she asked, teasing.

He got down on his knees and placed his cheek against her stomach, wrapping his arms around her body tenderly. For a moment, she almost couldn't breathe, for her emotions caught up with her.

"Oh Mimi…"

She sniffled, feeling tears come to her eyes. Neither one of them noticed that Mark had left, taking his camera with him.

"Bunch of fuckin' assholes," mumbled Mark under his breath, his right hand in his pocket and his left holding the 16mm movie camera that went everywhere with him. It was off this time. "They don't even realize how stupid they are! God damn!" He cursed loudly and then sighed, leaning against the alley wall. He turned the camera on, pointing it directly at himself. "Zoom in on the green-faced Mark Cohen, who doesn't have a relationship, so he criticizes other people's." He exhaled; letting his arm drop to his side, limp as he banged his head against the wall. "I don't fuckin' need them, anyway. Let Roger move out. Let them have their HIV baby… Oh shit," he whispered, opening his eyes and straightening his posture. "They don't even know! Holy –"

"What's up there, Mr. Director?" came a harsh, low voice, filled with bass and hate. "Whatchu doin' all alone out here, huh?"

Mark spun around, his eyes widening to find a large man with skin as black as night slumped against his only exit. The man's features curved into a nasty snarl, which served as his smile. Then, the man emitted such a low grumble of a noise that Mark nearly jumped from the wall.

"What's 'da matter, boy?"

"Look, I wasn't causing any trouble, so can I just go?" asked Mark timidly.

"Hm… Well, I would let you go, but you look like you've got a good set 'a cash on ya'. So, howsabout it?"

Mark's eyes closed momentarily and he shook his head. "No, I'm poor. You've got the wrong –"

"Naw, I think I got the right guy here. Looky here, fellas." From around the corner, a few men, just as big and burly as this one, appeared; some holding large black clubs.

"Oh, fresh meat," growled one slightly bigger than the first.

Mark winced from where he stood and swallowed. 'Holy shit… I gotta run for it,' he thought to himself.

Before he knew what was happening, he took off on winged feet, trying to push his way through the men and get to the street beyond. Unfortunately, his lack of strength proved to be his downfall. Within seconds, they had pushed him back into the alley and cornered him in the back, where it was less likely to be heard.

Mark's heart beat a mile a minute as he felt them edging ever closer. Suddenly, there was a fist in his stomach and one on his head, sending him sprawling on the harsh pavement. Blood trickled from his dry lips, staining the gray concrete, as he felt tears swell in his eyes. Then, he felt something that caused his breath to falter: clothes were being torn from his body. He started to kick and scream, but with more than four pairs of hands holding him down, it was no use. Another blow was given to his right cheek, slapping his glasses off his face and causing blood to flow from his nose. He watched through blurred vision as his camera was tossed to the side, pieces tearing from it as it hit the ground. His felt hands grabbing and pulling, pushing and guiding, and then, there was a sharp pain around his back and lower torso, and he lost consciousness.

Tom Collins strolled down the street, carrying crisp bills in his pocket and fresh provisions in his arms. He was content at the moment, but was in desperate need to see Mark and settle things between them. He knew he'd been wrong to fight over Trevor's intentions in the first place, seeing as how he knew Mark was right all along, and now he would apologize to Mark and make things better. He'd even bought a small Fugi Camera as a gag gift to get a little laugh out of Mark.

Just as he was heading towards the loft, he heard a muffled cry from a nearby alley, not even five minutes from their home. He kept walking for a few steps, but something pulled in his chest, giving him an odd feeling of wrongness. He turned slowly and watched as a few large men came from the alley. The feeling intensified and his feet suddenly sprang forward, lunging him towards the alley. As he entered the alley, he saw a heap of clothing and blood, huddled in the far corner, sobbing and twitching. Collins leapt towards the mess of a human and knelt beside him, setting his packages down.

"Whoa, are you okay, pal?" There was no answer from the man. Collins bit his lip, noticing all the blood and the ripped clothing. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. "Can you speak? Are you okay?" There was still no answer as the man shook and muttered. Collins froze, recalling that voice. He gently turned the man so that he could look at his face and he nearly fainted. "Mark! Oh God, Mark! Are you okay? Speak, please God, speak!" Collins jumped to his feet, his voice echoing through the alley and carrying to the street, "Somebody help me!"

"Hap-hap-happy Turkey Day!" came a low voice outside the door of the loft.

"Benny?"

"Who else, kids?" He let himself in, smiling as he saw the two lovers hugging in the middle of the room. "I suppose you've told him the news, eh Mimi?"

She giggled. "Yeah."

Roger forced a smile. "Come on in Benny."

"Ah, hospitality at its best!" He chuckled, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them. "Shit, it's colder in here than it is outside."

"Yeah," said Roger with a smirk, "Somebody should fix the heat, huh?"

"Oh, slick!" Benny retorted, slapping Roger on the back.

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"That's difference between you and me. You can't. I can." He smiled, moving towards Mimi. "Ah, Mimi! Looking better every minute I see you."

Roger cleared his throat loudly.

"Oh hush, Roger!" chided Mimi, smiling at Benny. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

"Ah, a compliment! I'm rating higher on the Benny-Richter-scale-of-love, eh?" He frowned. "But, you all know why I'm here."

Roger rolled his eyes, turning away, rubbing his thumb against his other fingers in a gesture of money. "I can guess."

"'Money makes the world go 'round', y'know." He looked around. "Where's Mark? He's usually the one to hand over payment."

Roger suddenly looked around too and laughed lightly. "I didn't even notice he left. I guess he took a hike, considering Mimi and I were…occupied—"

Mimi giggled. "--You mean, gloating."

"--When he was last here." He shrugged. "I'm sure he'll turn up later tonight. He's just jealous, as usual."

"Ehem, who do you think he gets it from?" Mimi asked.

Roger grinned. "I wouldn't know, darling."

"Mm hmm…"

Benny laughed. "I hate to interrupt you two, but the rent is due."

Roger groaned. "You have a tendency to ruin otherwise happy days, you know."

"I know. But, that doesn't change a thing. A man's gotta live."

"You're rich. That's different."

"No, no. Now, that's not so, Roger. I pay the bills just as you do. However, _mine_ are on time."

"Don't rub it in."

Benny held out his hand. "C'mon, pay up. I don't wanna get mean about it, but this is _my_ building and I allow your payments to be late most of the time. It's nearly the holidays, kids, and I need the money."

"What, does Muffy—"

"—Allison."

"—Need a new pair of suede Candy's?"

"No, dahling," Mimi said, mimicking a rich snob, "She had to get a new Vette."

"You two should tour on a comedy act. I'm laughing my ass off," said Benny, monotonously. "Look, one more day's all I can afford. The other tenants pay on time, so why don't you?"

"We're special."

"Special my ass."

Roger and Mimi laughed as Roger sat down in a folding chair, taking a drink of his bottled water that sat atop the table. "Give us two months, Benny –"

"No, no! No-can-do."

"Just hear me out. We got jobs today and we'll be paid in full after two months. If you give us that long, we'll pay up."

"With interest. If you take that long to pay me for last month, you'll owe three months. I'm not sure I can trust you that much."

"Aw, c'mon Benny," Roger cooed, making a pout. "_Please_?"

Benny rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. How could I resist: with that face?" He turned away, shuddering. "Tell Mark I came by."

"I'll tell him you've been good," said Mimi with a laugh.

"He won't believe you."

"I'll vouch," added Roger with a smile.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Roger stood and picked it up quickly. "Hello? Yes, this is Roger Davis…. Yes, I…. Oh God! No, no, I'm coming, right away…. Yes, thank you!" He threw the phone down, nearly knocking it off the table. He jumped up and started to throw on his coat.

"Who was that?" Mimi asked, wide-eyed.

"The hospital. Mark's been…" He swallowed, shaking his head. "He's been raped and mugged."

"Holy shit!" cried Benny who'd been halfway out the door.

"We need to get to the hospital…fast!"

"I'll drive," whispered Benny.

Roger could hardly be restrained from entering Mark's room, even though the doctors advised him not to.

"Fuck you! I'm goin' in, whether you like it or not. So, you might as well open the door yourself. Or would you rather I bust it down?"

"Uhh…no, sir… We'd rather…"

"Shut up and get out of my way!"

Mimi took his arm, tugging gently at it. "C'mon Roger, calm down…"

He shook her hand away and charged into the room. Behind him, following quickly, were Collins, Mimi, and Benny. Collins hadn't left Mark's side until they'd reached the hospital, at which point the doctors told him to stay out of the room.

Roger stopped cold, his eyes drooping sadly as he watched the gentle rise and fall of Mark's thin chest with each heavy breath. His face was bandaged and needles were stuck in every place where veins were prominent. Tubes of blood ran around and over him like an amusement park roller coaster, and a heart monitor to Mark's right-hand side showed his erratic heartbeat. The tension mounted as Collins flicked on Mark's camera, which was, amazingly enough, still working.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Roger asked, raising his voice towards Collins and pushing the camera down. "You wanna film him in this way? Turn the damn thing off!"

"Roger," Collins tried to reason, raising the camera again, "On the way here, Mark said only a few things to me, and one of those was, 'film'. He wants this filmed. Don't ask me why, but he wants it."

"He said that?" Roger turned back to face Mark and nearly leapt to his bedside, looking down at his pale face, bruised and bloodied. "Geez, pal… What did they do to you?"

Collins placed a hand on Roger's shoulder gently, placing his free hand over the microphone of the camera. "There were about four or five guys – big and muscular – walking out of the alley as I walked by. Roger, they were _huge_. Look at Mark! He's young and lithe…. They could've easily killed him…" He filmed freely again.

Roger felt tears swell up in his eyes and he tried to blink them away, but that only made it worse. "Shit…. Why did they have to choose you, Mark? Mark: who's never done anything wrong to anyone, who's always been there for me, and who's always given for others first…. Damn it! Why you?"

Mimi took a seat on the opposite side of Mark's bed and stroked his arm tenderly. "Aw, geez, babe…"

"Where are these guys?" asked Roger, anger rising in his voice, as he turned to glare into the camera.

"I've notified the police –"

"—Shitheads…"

"—But they haven't found the guys yet. Besides, we'd need Mark to ID them, and he's… Well…." Collins let his voice trail off, not wanting to finish that thought.

At that moment, two doctors walked in. One, a tall, thin man with short, blonde hair and blue eyes, carried a clipboard and smiled. The other, a shorter dark-haired woman with a medium-built figure, walked freely beside him and went immediately to check the heart monitor.

Roger eyed both of them suspiciously, but decided against speaking up at this moment. All he could do was wait, anyway.

"Are any of you his immediate family?" asked the male doctor.

"No, but I'm as close as you'll find around here," whispered Roger. "I'm his roommate, Roger."

"Well, all right then, Roger. Will you come this way, please?" He gestured outside the room.

"Yeah, sure." Roger sighed, giving one last fleeting glance to Mark before walking out of the room with the doctor.

Once they were in the hallway, they continued to walk in silence until they reached an empty room. The doctor motioned for Roger to go inside, and Roger obeyed.

"So, is there a problem, Doctor?"

"Well, yes."

Roger swallowed. "What is it? Is Mark okay?"

"He should be fine."

Roger's eyes narrowed. "Then what's the problem?"

"We don't have an insurance card from him or from the man who brought him in. I'm assuming he doesn't have insurance…?"

Roger stepped up angrily to the doctor, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. "Look, doctor, it doesn't matter if he does or doesn't. He needs help, and you're going to help him! He's my best friend! Please, just help him!" He shook the man a few times, restlessly.

"It's okay, son, I'm not going to not help him. Calm down." The doctor removed Roger's hands and brushed himself off. "However, we cannot help without charging you for it. And I'm not sure you can pay…"

"I'll pay. Just help him and – God help me – I'll find a way!"

The doctor nodded. "I'll need confirmation of some sort of payment within a half an hour, Roger."

"Half an hour…. Okay."

"You don't have to call them, Roger," whispered Mimi as she placed her hand on his shoulder tenderly. "I can find the money. I just need to—"

"—To work yourself haggard. No thanks. I'll call."

Roger took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly, as he picked up the pay phone, inserting loose change in the form of thirty-five cents. He dialed carefully and slowly, almost as if he'd forgotten the number. A few moments passed and there was an answer on the other line.

"Hello?" came the voice of a forty-something woman.

"H-Hi…." Roger stammered.

"What can I do for you?"

"I…I…um… Mom?" His voice cracked slightly.

For a few seconds there was silence on the other end of the phone before she caught her breath to answer. "Roger?"

"Yeah."

"Oh Roger! How are things? How's the band going?"

Roger sighed. "We broke up about five months ago."

"Oh… Well, how's that girl…April was it?"

He held back a cold retort; he remembered distinctly telling her what'd happened with April. "We broke up too."

"Oh, that's right."

"I'm with Mimi now, mom…."

"Oh…"

"Anyway, that's not why I called." He took a breath, preparing himself. "I need some money."

"Oh…" She sounded disappointed.

"It's not for me…. It's for Mark. He's sick and doesn't have insurance. I can't afford to pay…not yet, anyway. But, I'll pay you back in two months, I swear it!"

"Why don't you ask Mark's mother to pay?" she asked, almost coldly.

"He wouldn't want that. You can't understand this, but please, if you care at all about my well-being, you'll send me money – and fast."

"Oh, honey, I do care. It's just –"

"Don't bother using excuses, mom. Thanks, anyway."

"No, wait. Don't hang up, Roger. Let me –"

"Bye."

"Roger, please –"

The click of the receiver covered up whatever last words his mother had intended to say and Roger stomped away, angrily.

"I guess that was a definite 'no', huh?" asked Mimi quietly, following him.

"Yeah. She can go to –"

"Don't say it, Roger. You won't mean it."

He sighed, leaning against the wall to stop and think. "Why didn't I just ask Benny? I'm sure he'll pay…"

She nodded swiftly, agreeing. "I'm sure he will."

Benny appeared from around the corner, shrugging. "It's already taken care of, guys."

Roger looked over at Benny and, for the first time since the old roommate days, he felt a sincere quality pouring from him, almost radiating from his soul. He wasn't all that bad, was he?

Roger lowered his eyes and stepped quickly to Benny, embracing him tightly. "God, Benny, thank you…. I know Mark'll thank you, too."

Benny smiled, slapping his back friendly. "I'm sure he will, Roger."

Roger held him tightly, feeling a sense of comfort in this man who'd just an hour ago still been a mortal enemy. The sensitive pressure of Benny's arms around him made him feel safe at that moment. It was as if Benny didn't care about the rent, Allison, or money at all at this moment – all he cared about was Mark and Roger. Wasn't that what their friendship had been at the earliest stages?

"Thank you…" he whispered again.

Benny laughed lightly, attempting to joke, pushing Roger away. "Take it easy, tiger. I'm not Collins."

The corners of Roger's mouth lifted slightly.


	3. Emotion -- Devotion

"Hey you guys!" came a high-pitched, almost screech-like voice of a young woman in a skin-tight cow-print t-shirt and just as tight black leather pants that clung to her luscious curves. She was followed by her darker, heavier other half. "Where is he?"

"_How_ is he?" asked the dark woman, wearing her usual business suit dress and pants.

Roger sighed, stopping his pacing routine around the hospital lobby. "He's…" He turned away, shutting his eyes.

"He's doing okay," Collins continued on Roger's behalf. "Have a seat. We can't go in right now. They took him to x-ray to see what's wrong exactly. He's still unconscious."

The woman in cow-print placed a dainty hand over her lips. "Oh, poor Marky! How'd it happen?"

Collins sent a glance toward Roger's back as he was now leaning face-forward against the wall. "Maureen, let's not talk about it now," he whispered to save Roger from hearing. "Roger's having a hard time."

"Oh, the poor dear!" cooed Joanne in a hushed tone. "Anything we can do? We came as soon as we heard, but that damn traffic…"

"I know. No, there's really nothing to do now. He'll come out of it."

Maureen sighed, lowering her eyes. She bit her lip and took a seat, crossing her legs and studying the floor, silent for once. Joanne sat down beside her and held her hand tightly in her own, stroking it affectionately.

Mimi entered then from around the corner and smiled upon noticing the two new arrivals. "Hey you guys!"

Joanne and Maureen looked up happily without getting up.

"Hey, babe," whispered Joanne with a grin. "How're things?"

"Minus the obvious, they're okay."

"Glad to hear."

They all took seats and engaged in simple conversation, much as they'd had the last time they were all in one room together at the same time: last Christmas Eve.

Roger still leaned against the wall, his forehead resting against the cool surface, pushing against it slightly. The pain seemed to ease his heartache. He heard vague blurbs of discussion and playful arguments between the four friends who sat in the hospital room. From his throat, there was emitted a low growl. It was too soft for anyone to hear, however. His heart was breaking, tearing in two, and at the same time he felt angry for these people sitting behind him. Didn't they care at all? Mark could be dying and they were engaging in tête-à-tête! His hands, which had previously been pressed against the wall to either side of his head, clenched to form fists and shook and trembled with rage. He felt the prominent veins in his brow and neck bulging with fury as his body quivered with fear. A sweat broke out over his face, wetting his pale visage with moisture. His eyes snapped open and he spun around to face them, his temper fuming.

"What the hell are you doing?" he screamed.

All heads turned his way, surprised, shocked, and very much confused.

"What, Roger?" Mimi asked timidly.

"You all are sitting there like it's fuckin' Christmas Day with all our worries diminished and gone! You act like Mark could walk out any minute and turn on that stupid camera of his and say, 'Hey, guys, what's up?' But, he won't, damn it! You know he wont'! What the hell's the matter with you all?!"

"Roger…calm down," Collins tried to reason, standing to his feet and taking a few steps toward Roger.

"Fuck you, Collins! Get the hell away from me!" he screamed, backing up.

The small woman doctor who they'd seen before appeared beside him and touched his shoulder lightly, whispering, "Please, sir, just have a seat and –"

"_Get the hell away from me_!" he repeated, louder this time, with the passion he utilized so often when his emotions got the best of him. "Don't you guys understand? Mark is fuckin' dying in there! And you're all sitting out here discussing the fuckin' weather!"

"Roger…_please_!" begged Mimi, standing as well.

"_'Please'_ yourself, Mimi!" He pushed her away, tears cascading down each pale cheek lethargically. "You guys don't understand…"

"Roger!" Collins tried to step closer and that was it: Roger took off down the hallway.

Aimless thoughts swirled in Roger's head as he dashed down every hallway, each crammed with people: doctors, nurses, patients, etc. His heart raced frantically and his breathing became as erratic as Mark's. Finally, he felt himself slow down and his hand groped forward to grasp the doorknob of a linen closet, swinging the entry open and propelling himself inside with such force that he ended up knocking over some towels and bed sheets. But, he didn't care. He cared about nothing else in the world at this moment save Mark Cohen: his best friend, roommate, solace, and his sane half. It'd often been said, by more than one person, that Roger and Mark could've been brothers; they were that close. He'd never kept a secret from Mark and vice versa. The two had lived together for years now and had had a few fights, but had always managed to resolve them peacefully. 

Roger sank down to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest, laying his head down on top of folded arms across kneecaps. He felt the water on his cheeks and berated himself for them, but there was nothing he could think or say to stop the continuous flow of tears from his dark eyes. He felt utterly alone and helpless. His best friend had been raped and beaten up and it was his fault entirely. If only he would have noticed! He could've stopped Mark from leaving and would have saved him!

'If only I hadn't been so excited about the news!' he thought to himself, silently. 'If only Mimi and I wouldn't have gotten so…' Suddenly, at that very moment, a horrible thought entered Roger's mind. It was so terrible and wrong that he shivered slightly thinking about it. He hadn't realized that Mimi's baby would most likely be HIV positive! 'Had she known that? No, she couldn't have. She was so happy and completely oblivious,' his mind continued.

He felt a pain deep within his heart, tugging at his muscles until they ached and jerked restlessly. He was sore and exhausted from the run from his co-called friends. His chest throbbed, every beat from his heart like the pounding of a distant drum edging ever closer. His eyes were red and puffy – swollen from sobbing – and tears still fell, dripping and cascading over his insipid façade. His lips trembled, as did the rest of his body, when he tried to make himself get up from the floor. He found he could not move. So, he allowed himself to slip down to a sleeping position, tucking his arms under his chest and laying on some fallen linen. He looked almost peaceful, save the unremitting current of tears, the melodious whimpers released from parted pallid lips, and his tremulous body. He shivered, swallowing slowly, doing something he hadn't done in a long time: he prayed.

"Mark? Mark, can you hear me?"

"Y-yes…. W-whe…. W-w-where….?" A bright light flashed in his half-masked eyes, filling them with vivid brightness.

"It's okay, Mark. You're at the Louise-Central Hospital. How are you feeling?"

"I…I…"

"Just one word is fine, Mark. Don't stress yourself. How are you feeling?"

"O-oay…"

Maureen smiled from his right-hand side. "I think he means 'okay'."

The doctor smiled as well, nodding. "You're going to be all right, Mark. Do you remember what happened?"  
"I…I re…"

"One word, Mark. Only one word, if you can. Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah…"

"Okay. Now, can you try real hard for me to–"

"Rog-g-ger?"

Collins winced from where he stood, clenching his jaw to hold tears. "He's not hear now, Mark. He'll be here, though."

At those words, Mimi snuck out (not that Mark could take notice of that, but it was better to be careful anyway) of the room quietly, going to find Roger.

"C-Collins!" Mark cried, turning his head and almost making himself sit up. This outburst caused him so much pain that he cried out again and fell back into the sheets, moaning in pain.

"Whoa, calm down, Mark," whispered the doctor, glancing at the heart monitor which was moving too quickly for Mark's good. "You need to keep calm for me, okay?"

"Yeah…" he breathed, exhausted.

"Now, I need you to try really hard for me, Mark. Can you remember what day it is?"

"N-novv….Novv…"

"Yes, that's right. It's November. Now, what day?"

"Fiffff….teenth."

"Good! What year?"

Mark took a deep breath and fought to make an answer audible. "1998."

"Good!" The doctor smiled and moved to a bag that was hooked into Mark's right arm, adjusting the bottom of it. The fluid ran down the tube and into Mark's system. "Mark, you need to get some rest and try not to exert any more energy than you have to: which is none. Just take it easy and rest, okay? I'll be back later to check on you again." He began to walk out and nodded to the people still in the room. "You all can stay until he falls asleep, but keep him calm."

"Got it, doctor," whispered Maureen with a smile.

"Thanks," echoed Collins and Joanne.

The doctor retreated casually and closed the door quietly behind him. Mark turned his head slowly towards Collins and smiled hazily.

"F-film…?" he asked almost silently.

Collins laughed gently, turning on the camera. "Yeah, Mark. I've been filming nonstop, don't worry."

"W-where's Mimi?" he said noticeably clearer.

"She went to get Roger, honey," cooed Joanne, smiling down at him, although she felt more like crying as she noticed every painful mark.

Mark sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes. The lids seemed to fall of their own accord and Mark's breathing slowed. However, he whispered still. "S-sorry I'm nooot… mush of maself n-now…"

Maureen smiled, laughing good-naturedly. "That's okay Mark. You just rest. Don't worry about us."

He forced his eyes open and blinked again through the blurred vision. "H-how bad do-o I look?"

Maureen bit her lip, Joanne shifted uncomfortably to her other leg, and Collins felt himself quiver. None answered for a few moments of awkward silence.

"I mu-ust look p-p-pretty bad, h-huh?" he stammered with a short laugh that was echoed by coughing and a painful moan.

"Don't exert yourself too much, honey," Maureen whispered, touching his hand. "You look damn good!" She smiled.

"Liar." His lips curved so slowly that it seemed to take a full minute to receive a half smile from him.

Then, his eyes closed again and he fell asleep within moments. His friends tiptoed out of the room as quietly as possible, and Collins switched off the camera.

Mimi searched around the hospital with no luck thus far. She'd asked with nurses and doctors and even some patients to see if they'd seen him wondering around. The only thing she knew was that a few people had seen him go down the West Wing hallway, where they kept the seriously ill patients suffering from long-term diseases. She checked every empty room in that wing before deciding to give up. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. It was then that she heard an argument coming from a few doors down in a small closet.

"Fuck you, lady," growled Roger, impatiently standing to his feet. "I'm not having the best day, so just get out of my way."

"Sir, I didn't mean to –"

"Yeah, whatever."

Roger's hands tore at his tears, wiping them away swiftly, leaving red streaks running down each cheek. Mimi immediately noticed him as he hastily exited the closet, shoving the nurse he'd been arguing with aside.

"Roger!"

He stopped cold in his tracks and spun on his heels to walk the other way, but she raced up to him and grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face her.

"Roger, please, don't be like this."

"Be like what, Mimi? You don't want me to feel emotion?"

"You know that's not –"

"You want me to go chat it up with Lesbian and Gays Anonymous over there in the lobby? Screw that!"

Her hands massaged his muscles gently and she leaned against him. "C'mon, Roger. Come over with us and talk this out."

"What's there to talk about?" he cried, pulling away and running his hands through his hair. "Mimi, did you even think about the fact that your baby is…"

"Is what?"

He swallowed, sighing. "Think about it, Mimi…. Damn it! Just think about it."

Her eyes narrowed and she felt tears swell in her eyes. "I know." She sniffled, wetting her dry lips and turning from him. "You think I didn't know? But, what the hell am I supposed to do, Roger? I'm not getting an abortion! I couldn't…." She slipped down into a chair and he was immediately by her side. "What are we going to do, Roger?"

"I don't know," he replied, holding her hand gently. "It's not fair to our child to be brought up like that…. I don't want him or her to turn out like me, okay? I don't want that!"

She frowned, taking his face in her hands lovingly. "I don't want our kid to be like me, either." Her glance descended until it rested on the floor. "Roger?"

"Huh?"

"Mark's conscious – or was when I last saw him."

"What?" He jumped up, dropping her hand. "He's okay?" His eyes flashed with wetness.

"He's doing good. He asked for you, though."

Roger took off down the hall, smiling widely. Mimi jumped to her feet and followed silently.

It was getting late and the doctors had pronounced visiting hours to be over and made them leave to let Mark get some rest. _There's nothing you can do now,_ the doctor had told Roger, _Except to go home and get some rest, and let Mark do the same. He's had a tough day. Come back tomorrow morning and you can see him again._

Roger had refused to leave and promised to sleep in the lobby and be patient and quiet. He knew he could do nothing now but wait, but somehow he couldn't force himself to go home. Benny had offered to escort Mimi home, and for once Roger trusted him completely. Benny'd also undertaken the responsibility of making sure Mimi and the gang got some good food into their system. Roger had coerced them all to leave and let him stay alone. He swore he was fine and that he'd be okay there all night.

In reality, he was not fine and he would not be okay. His nerves were on end and every breath he took was a test of strength. He felt as if he would collapse at any moment if not for the impending thought of morning soon to come.

Soon, it was nearing midnight and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, glancing around the lobby room. There were a few others, sleeping here as he was. One woman, to his far right, had a husband who was dying of cancer and was in the ER as she sat there. A man and two children far behind him were there because of the man's wife who had been shot twice (once in the leg and once in the chest) as she was robbed in Central Park. The children had settled now, but had earlier been crying and sobbing and carrying on as if they'd been shot themselves. And Roger? He sat motionless, anxiety overriding his system as he stared – terrified – at the door to Mark's room. It was closed, but not locked. He'd been monitoring it for the past few hours now and had noticed that the nurse came by to check on him every hour on the hour. He sighed, waiting impatiently. As soon as the nurse left this time, he was going in there. He hadn't seen Mark since he was unconscious, and, although he'd probably be asleep now, he couldn't waste the opportunity to see him.

Mark lay awake, watching the nurse busy herself with checking up on him. She whistled a happy tune, pushing buttons and pulling on wires. He studied her, wishing he had his camera with him. He laughed inwardly. How could he operate a camera?

The nurse made a few marks on her papers, checking his heart monitor once before replacing the clipboard to its holder at the foot of his bed. She glanced his way and he closed his eyes, peeking through them to watch her until she'd left, as quietly as she'd come in.

He was thankful for the privacy. He hated being pampered like this. If not for the incredible pain in his rear and the scars and tears all over his face, chest, and back, he would have gone home by now. But, the pain was so unbearable that he had to allow them to wait on him as if he was an invalid.

The only thing he was really curious about was Roger. Roger had been missing through this whole ordeal and he was the only person Mark wanted to talk to. Roger was his best friend, his closest confidant…his brother.

Mark sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back. It was best not to dwell on anything. Roger was probably at home, sleeping, as he should be. No need to worry over Mark's well being.

Suddenly, a dim light stretched across Mark's features and he vaguely realized that it was coming from outside and that someone was entering. The light created a line that ran perpendicular to the floor, over the right side of his face. He felt unnerved and slammed his eyes shut again so the light wouldn't blind him, but, as soon as he did, the light was gone, and the darkness once again enveloped him. He knew, however, that he was not alone, and he somehow discerned that the person entering was male. A sweat broke out on his face, drenching his features with moisture as his heartbeat sped slightly. He wanted to jump out of the bed and get the hell out of there as fast as possible, but he couldn't make himself move. His muscles seemed frozen in place and his brain spun wildly with images of his raping. His heartbeat raced a little faster. Then, just as he was about to scream for help, the man spoke….

"Oh Mark…."

_Roger_! It was Roger! The sweat dripped down Mark's cheeks, burning as it reached some open wounds that were cut and bruises that weren't healed in the least. But, it didn't matter. He started to open his mouth to speak, but, before he got the chance, Roger's voice was heard.

"God, Mark, I'm so, so sorry…. Can you ever forgive me?" Mark decided to stay quiet, for the fear that if he spoke, he would ruin this. "Geez, Mark…." Roger sat down at his right-hand side and swallowed, thrusting all his courage forth. "One of the last things I said was 'screw you'," he whispered, choking on his words. "How the hell was I supposed to know…? Oh God, Mark, just please come out of it! You know you're my best friend in the world, and, without you, I'm lost! I know you're sleeping and you probably can't even hear me—"

'How wrong you are,' thought Mark.

"—But I just gotta tell you all this. I've been crying, Mark. You know I never cry…. I didn't cry when I left Mimi to go to Santa Fe and I didn't cry at Angel's funeral, but I'm crying now. Mark… I don't even know what to say… You gotta make it, pal. You don't understand how close you are to me. You're closer to me than anyone. I tell you everything and never hold back and I know you do the same. Mimi gets jealous sometimes because I tell you more than I do her." He smiled gently, his eyes watering. "Pull through for me, Mark… I'd do anything just to erase the pain you're going through right now. I'd die to save you from it…." He let his voice trail off as he turned away, unable to say more.

Mark felt tears swelling in his eyes as well, but he couldn't cry. It would sting the cuts….

"Please, Mark…. Pull through, for me…?"

"Okay," whispered Mark, opening his eyes fully.

Roger nearly jumped to his feet and his face flushed red. Mark could see this easily, even in the dark room.

"Mark! Oh God, you're awake?"

"Yeah."

Roger laughed happily, reaching out to Mark to hug him, but Mark flinched, wincing and moaning, sinking away into the sheets. Roger stopped cold and retracted his hands.

"What's wrong?" cried Roger, backing away, thinking he'd accidentally pulled one of the tubes.

"Oh God…." Mark's eyes slammed shut and he started to tremble, jerking frantically. The near caress of Roger's hands had brought flashes of images from earlier that evening back into his mind. Hands pulling, pushing, hitting…hurting, piercing…. He felt his heart race wildly out of control and he fought to maintain breath. "No! No, please! Help me… No!"

Roger paced frantically and then raced out in the hallway. "Help! Someone help!"

"No, please! I'll give you the money! No! Not my clothes… Oh, please! God, it hurts! Help me! Help me!" Mark writhed on the bed, the sweat rolling off his features while the bed shook. His heart monitor beeped and screeched loudly as the doctor rushed in.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he asked Roger as the man checked on Mark. He switched a plastic tube with another and liquid flowed into it and down to Mark's veins, entering his system. "Calm down, Mark… Take it easy."

Roger's heart thumped loudly within his chest as he backed out of the room. He faintly heard the doctor's last words, "Go home."

Roger didn't waste too much time getting the hell out of the hospital. He'd nearly sent Mark into cardiac arrest! Plus, he knew there was no way to stay in the lobby now. They wouldn't trust him half as far as they could throw him. The nurse had escorted him kindly out, saying he could return in the morning.

'Screw the morning,' thought Roger angrily. Mark had heard every single thought running through his mind as he'd thought them, but this did not anger Roger. What angered Roger was that no one had found these men yet, and they'd probably never _be_ found. The police in NYC were more commonly seen chasing donuts and coffee than criminals and drug dealers. This is what made him furious. Mark could have died (thank God he hadn't!), and these cops wouldn't give a fuck about it!

Eventually, Roger stopped wondering the streets and strayed towards the loft, where he knew Mimi would be. What he didn't expect was to see everyone – Mimi, Collins, Benny, Maureen, and Joanne – all seated in a circle on the floor, chatting and drinking tea and hot chocolate. They all smiled at him as he entered and Mimi leapt to her feet, striding over to him and embracing him tenderly. He wrapped his arms around her, thankful to hold her once again, and kissed her cheek.

"Hey, Roger," she whispered, smiling. Pulling away, her frown disappeared. "Why'd you come home?"

"I walked in to talk to Mark and when I went to touch him – to give him a hug – he freaked and got worse by the minute. I called the doctor in and they made me leave."

Collins stood and handed Roger a cup. "It's my own special recipe."

"The hell it is, Collins," Benny said with a laugh, "Unless you own Starbucks."

"Shh, he doesn't know that!" replied Collins with a smirk.

Roger laughed, taking a sip of the hot liquid, thankful, for he hadn't eaten at all since he found out the news. "Thanks."

"No problem. Take a seat."

"Thanks," Roger said with a laugh, sitting next to Mimi. "Not that I should ask, but, what exactly are you all doing here?"

"Having a slumber party!" replied Maureen with a giggle, tossing a mini-pillow at Joanne.

Roger couldn't help but chuckle, looking at them all sitting Indian-style with their drinks in hand. They were all trying to get their minds off Mark's situation, he knew, but how long had it been since they'd all be together like this, laughing and happy and just – together? "What about work?" he asked timidly.

"_Work_?" Benny asked in a mocking, sarcastic tone. "What's _that_?"

Roger grinned. "You know… It's that thing you do between jacking off and strip clubs."

Laughter surrounded Roger then, wrapping him in its blanket of tender love. He felt safe and happy there, with these people that loved him so much. He remembered vaguely the first time he'd met each one of them….

Collins: sitting next to Maureen, Tom was the epitome of friendliness and charity. Ever since Angel died, he was constantly trying to better the community, and he even got a job so that he could make enough money to donate to AIDS/HIV charities. The first time he'd met Thomas Ethan Collins was by accident. He remembered it vividly.

Mark had taken Roger to a dance club a few months after they'd become roommates. Mark had taken a fancy to a young girl with wild clothes and an insane notion of dropping her pants at the mention of moons (or really anything to do with space), and so Roger was left alone to occupy himself (since, on that day, April had been gone off to her parents' house). Collins had introduced himself and had hit on Roger, causing a few chortles from Roger. He told Collins straight off that he wasn't gay and that he had a girlfriend. Collins hadn't minded and they hit it off well. Collins, in later conversation, had explained he was looking for a place to stay and Roger had insisted on talking to Mark about sharing the apartment.

Then, there was Maureen: the insane girl with crazy clothes, who enjoyed dropping her pants whenever possible to cause a commotion. He remembered her vivacious colors slapping him in the face and her wild hair, twisted into a high ponytail and crimped stylishly. He remembered how she'd strutted up to Mark and taken him away in one fleeting moment. He remembered the first words she'd ever said to him: "Would you be interested in a threesome?" Of course, they'd all thought she was joking. I guess that taught them both to be careful whom they date.

And Joanne: the sophisticated and always caring woman who tried her best to cope with being involved with Maureen and her undomesticated ways. He vaguely remembered hearing about her from Maureen and Mark, the day they'd broken up (or, more rightly stated, the day she dumped him). He remembered clearly that he'd first met her during Maureen's performance of "Over the Moon". Joanne had been running around like crazy before the show started and he recognized her immediately. She'd come to say a few words to them and then went to the side of the stage to help with the electronic equipment, although he could tell that she had little to no experience with gadgets.

He remembered Benny: how could one forget? Most of the time, he was a suave lady's man with money coming out the wazzu. But, he could be caring and gentle and timid as a lamb, if the mood suited him. Benny had been a friend of Mark's since high school and had lived with them from the beginning. He was always up for a party and would never be the one to back down from a dare. There was one time, Roger recalled, that Mark had dared Benny to kiss Collins. This was during their first night all together as roommates. Well, Benny didn't back down. Collins was stuck washing his mouth out (literally) with soap for a half an hour. He complained later of that being "the queerest night" of his life.

As his eyes moved to rest on the woman next to him, he realized he recalled her exact expressions and every movement she'd made the first time he'd met her. Her name was Mimi Marquez. "They call me Mimi." That was the impression he received and the most vivid of memories that came to him every time he saw her. To be truthful, the first time he'd ever seen her was when she was dancing (that would be the graceful term for what she'd been doing) on stage at the Cat Scratch Club. This thought evoked an image of her in little less than black leather and lace, handcuffing herself to various poles in the center of the stage as she gyrated her hips and let herself feel the music that played in the background. Another image sprang to mind: when they'd first kissed. Yes, it had been harsh and unexpected, and, at the time, unwanted, but it had been the foundation for their relationship up 'til now. 

He felt warmth radiating inside of him remembering these things. And then, he remembered Mark. How could he ever forget the first time he'd met his best friend? They'd known each other since high school days but had never been great friends. Mark was one of the geeks who'd always request projector time in class. Roger hung out with the "bad crowd" of kids – drinking, smoking (at times), and having sex with April whenever he got the chance. They'd become friends by accident. Roger'd gotten in a fight with April during school and had gone into one of the janitor's closets to let out his steam. While inside, he'd punched quite a few holes in the walls and broken one too many brooms in half with his bare hands. Mark had gotten in trouble for stealing a camera from the AV department (when, in fact, he'd only borrowed it), and was trying to escape Vice Principal Hillyer's wrath. To escape, he decided to take refuge in the janitor's closet. Mark got in the way, clumsily, of Roger's angry fists and fell back against the wall, causing a million things to tumble off the shelves, creating a steady crescendo of noise, which caught the attention of the Vice Principal aforementioned, who came in to see what the trouble was. Mark, in all his naïve, kindhearted goodness, blamed the mess, as well as the holes in the wall and the broken tools, on himself and took the punishment (two weeks detention and a plastering session with the janitors) bravely. Roger had felt such esteem towards this lithe, scrawny, diminutive kid that he thanked him the next day and took him under his wing. From then on, the two had become inseparable. Roger and Mark. Mark and Roger. The two just fit together like bread and water. One was never without the other and when Mark had decided to get an apartment, Roger had swiftly agreed to move in with him.

"…_You're_ the one who goes to strip clubs to watch your gal over there, Roger," replied Benny with a laugh, leaning back.

Roger shook his head slightly. He felt as if he'd just waken from a long, interesting dream. He nodded. "So? _I_ have good reason to go. I get to watch Mimi dance." He smirked at her.

"Yeah, what's _your_ reason, Ben?" piped Mimi with a grin.

"_Duh_!" Maureen chimed. "Muffy works there!"

Benny shook his head, his tone serious. "It's _Allison_! Can't you people ever learn that her name is –"

"_Muffy_!" everyone shouted.

Benny groaned, falling to his back, shaking his head with laughter. "Why the hell do I hang out with you guys?"

"Bad judgment on your part, hun," whispered Joanne with a smile.

Roger's lips curved into a soft smile as the group carried on in conversation. Mimi, noticing the slight change in Roger, tugged gently on his arm.

"Everything okay, Roger?" she whispered.

He looked over at her and pulled her close, kissing her lips tenderly. When he pulled away, he was still smiling. "Everything's great."


	4. Don't Breathe Too Deep

*****All lyrics are from songs that I've written and which are copyrighted (© Copyright Tiara Rea, 2001. All rights reserved). J Not that I wanna get mean about it, but I have worked hard on writing them – music and all – so, I'd appreciate it if you'd let them be (in fact, they will eventually be used in a musical I'm working on!! Be excited. Hehe). Thanks a bunch! Okay, now that that's done, let's get this story started…errr…_ended_. J******

****One more thing: for those of who (you know who you are!) stay up 'til the wee hours of the morning, awaiting new installments of this melodrama that flows from my fingertips (or that I pull out of my arse -- whichever), thank you! I'm glad to know I'm not writing this for nothing. lol Now, on with the show!****

Roger didn't sleep that night. His mind was too wrapped up in everything that was happening around him to use the energy required to sleep. It was more relaxing to stay awake.

Everyone slept over as expected. Benny slept on their new, small futon along with Maureen. Joanne and Collins made beds of the tables, making sure to lean them against the walls just so they wouldn't fall off. Mimi and Roger took the other small futon, cuddling comfortably beside each other.

Roger looked down, watching the soft rise and fall of Mimi's stomach and chest. Her breathing was a soothing sound to his ears, and he listened intently. Her delicate arms were wrapped contentedly around his waist, hugging him tightly. He held her possessively, letting his cheek rest against those luscious curls of hers. He inhaled her sweet perfume, and felt her heartbeat next to his. He smiled. Despite all that had happened, he felt closer to his friends than ever. Misfortunes seemed to bring the group closer together. The only thing that he needed to do was talk to Mark and say he was sorry. Even though Mark had heard his confession earlier, he felt he needed to say it again. 

Rising sharply at 7am, Roger snuck out from Mimi's tender embrace, gently allowing his lips to caress her cheek. With his guitar in hand, he headed straight for the hospital.

Mark woke slowly to the sound of the steady beeping of his heart monitor. He suddenly was aware of the fact that needles were plugged into him as if he were some kind of diseased patient in for a contagious virus that would kill him. Unfortunately, he was too weak to remove any of the tubes or pull out those painful needles. Instead, he lay motionless and struggled to remember what had happened last night to send him into the painful reverie of the past several hours. He recalled Roger's hands moving slowly towards him, nearly gracing his skin with their soothing touch, and then he blacked out. He did, however, remember that his mind had perceived Roger to be one of the rapists. For some reason, Roger's embrace would mean torment to Mark's fragile mind. The thought of Roger – or any other man, for that matter – touching him at all sent waves of chills and a thick sweat over Mark's entire frame. He trembled simply thinking about it. And yet, at the same time, he wondered if he'd ever get over this fear. Those men had completely warped his mind and there was nothing he could do.

He propped himself up, using all his strength, his muscles tense. His eyes roamed around the small gray room, gracing each item that was found there. He sighed, leaning his back against the headboard gently. He winced slightly, feeling the muscles in his back twisting and overwrought. Suddenly, he heard the door opening, and for a moment, he froze in place. Then, he smiled gently, his eyes settling against the soft sheet over his small body.

Roger entered quietly, mimicking Mark's expression. He watched as the filmmaker's eyes descended shyly to rest on his blanket. He took in a breath, shutting the door behind him and moving to sit by Mark's bedside. There were a few minutes of intense silence in which neither one of them spoke, but merely studied the ground. Roger set his guitar down on the second bed that was empty. 

"What's with the guitar?" asked Mark. He was able to talk clearly now, having gained back the use of his jaw and the swelling in his tongue (for he had bitten it during the struggle) had gone down.

"The what?" asked Roger, his nerves on edge. "Oh! Oh, I just…thought you might like a reminder of home."

Mark nodded. "Thanks."

Another break filled with acute calmness that made Roger's nerves jump even more. He wanted to speak, but he didn't know what to say. How could you tell your best friend that it was your entire fault he got raped and was sitting in a hospital bed?

"And thanks for…last night," Mark continued where he left off, quietly, in his innocent way.

"Oh yeah…." whispered Roger, allowing his eyes to meet Mark's. For a minute the stillness built up to a deafening roar that neither one of them could stand.

"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time.

Roger looked startled and Mark confused.

"What?" they both asked again.

Roger laughed first, followed swiftly by Mark. "Why are you sorry?"

Mark shook his head. "Well, I left in such a hurry, and I wasn't even happy for you and Mimi. I have to tell you, I _was_ happy for you…but…"

"Jealous?"

"Yeah…."

"I know." Roger sighed. "But you shouldn't be sorry. If not for me, you wouldn't have left in the first place. And then… The last thing I said to you, that I can remember, was 'screw you'! I mean, my God Mark! What if you had died?"

"Please, Roger. Don't –"

"I have to, Mark…. I couldn't live with myself if anything had happened to you."

"But, it didn't."

"It could have."

Mark sighed, shaking his head. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it. I'm just a little shaky, that's all."

Roger frowned heavily. "Don't lie, Mark. I saw how you rejected my touch last night. That was only a hug. What's going to happen when Collins brushes past you by accident?"

"You're not making it any better, Roger."

"I know…. Shit, I didn't mean to say these things…. I wanted to say I was sorry. And that you're my closest friend. If anything happened to you…I'd be so lost."

Mark smiled. "That's more like it. Now, are you gonna play me a song or what?" He smirked. "And where the hell is Collins with my camera?"

Roger's lips lifted to a soft, sad smile. "He'll be around."

"So, what about that song?" Mark's eyes implored.

"Sure, pal. Anything you want."

"Well then no lover's lament crap, okay?" he chuckled.

"Sure. What about something new?" he asked, picking up his guitar, spinning it once before letting it rest between his legs as he crossed them.

"You wrote something?"

"Yeah."

"What's it about?"  
"You…."

Mark's face reddened considerably as he stretched, moaning softy as his muscles loosened. "Wow…. O-okay." He teased, "Nothing too sappy, right?"

"You'll see. Beware: it's cheesy."

"All the better," Mark whispered, anxiously.

Roger strummed the pick across the strings a few times, making sure the guitar was tuned perfectly and then he plucked out a melody so beautiful that Mark was in awe. The chords he began with were reminiscent to classical sonatas, and the wondrous air that followed flowed like a steady waterfall – continuous and sublime. Then, he sang, the melody sweet and tender, from his heart.__

_ _

_Sometimes life can get me depressed,_

_When everything around me is a mess._

_I digress…._

_ _

_Sometimes the feelings in my heart_

_Get so befuddled and tear apart,_

_And I cry out to an empty night,_

_"Will everything be all right?"_

_ _

_Sometimes I feel the world has been torn_

_Off it's axis, but still it turns,_

_While I yearn for a time to come_

_When all my sins will be undone_

_ _

_Sometimes the music in my head_

_Fills my heart and soul with such dread_

_That it becomes impossible to breath_

_But the euphony fills in me_

_ _

_And when the sun sets at dusk_

_I feel I must_

_Run away…run away…_

_Sometimes the days seems so long_

_And oh so lonely_

_Go away…go away…_

_And sometimes the clouds above forecast_

_My departure from this world_

_Gotta get away…gotta get away…_

_Sometimes…_

_When the world's an empty place_

_And I slow down in my pace,_

_I stop and think, "sometimes…"_

_ _

_Sometimes the power of love_

_Can be felt from up above,_

_And it leans on me…it leans on me…_

_ _

_Sometimes you just gotta fight tomorrow_

_You just gotta face the sorrow_

_And turn away…just turn away…_

_ _

_And sometimes, the pains rage like fire_

_And the traitors of life conspire,_

_With all their words of hate_

_That they spat out and spit out straight!_

_ _

_Late in the night, I hear it_

_And somewhere inside, I feel it_

_It's the peace of good,_

_Breaking through the mood…_

_Sometimes…_

_ _

_And when the sun sets at dusk_

_I feel I must_

_Run away…run away…_

_Sometimes the days seem so long_

_And oh so lonely…_

_Go away…go away…_

_And sometimes the clouds above forecast_

_My departure from this world…_

_Gotta get away…gotta get away…_

_Sometimes…._

_When the world's an empty place_

_And I slow down in my pace,_

_I stop and think, "sometimes…"_

_ _

_Sometimes I feel alone_

_Sometimes the fear of death is so close_

_That I can taste it in my mouth_

_And nothing's ever finished here_

_No, nothing's ever finished here!_

_And I can't fight the tears_

_No, I can't fight the tears!_

_Sometimes…_

_ _

The final chords rang out through the silence, cutting it like a knife, as Roger's voice died away. As if he had lost himself in the music, Roger slumped over his guitar, studying his fingers on the strings. He bit his lip, waiting for some kind of response. Mark was always his toughest critic (besides himself) and he valued his every word. He heard no reply, no sound – nothing. Uneasy over what Mark had thought, Roger looked up to find him smiling that tender smile of his. Roger opened his mouth as if to speak.

"Don't even ask me, Roger," whispered Mark as he shook his head. "It was amazing."

"Really?"

"No, I'm lying." He rolled his eyes. "Of course! I loved it." He twitched slightly, laying back down.

"You okay?"  
"Yeah…. I just get these pains every once in while…." He winced. "It hurts…"

Roger swallowed, setting his guitar down, but as he started to do so, Mark's hand grabbed Roger's sleeve, stopping him short.

"No, please… Play some more…." he begged.

"Mark, don't get excited. You'll hurt yourself."

"No, I'm fine. I promise." He forced a smile.

"Don't lie. You can't lie to me."

Mark laughed quietly, releasing his grip from Roger's arm. "I know…. Will you play anyway? Humor me?"

Roger nodded. "If you want. But please, don't go and die on me. I can't have you dying because of my music. That just wouldn't look good." He smirked.

"I'll try my best," he replied with a grin. "Play that one you wrote about life…"

"All mine are about life."

"Oh yeah… Well, it was called vacant…or bare…or—"

"Empty?"  
"Yeah, that's the one."

He laughed. "I didn't know you were such a fan, Mark. I'd have bugged you more at the loft if I'd have known."

"That's why I didn't tell you." Mark's face suddenly became serious. "I really do love your music, Roger. No matter what I, or anyone else, says, you have great talent."

Roger shook his head. "I think the drugs they're pumping in you are getting to you."

"No, I'm serious, Roger…."

Roger bowed his head. "I-I know." He didn't wait for Mark to explain why he loved his music or why he chose now to tell him. He began the melancholy song slowly, his voice piercing Mark's ears with its distressing, somber timbre.

# The empty bottles of beer on the bar

_Belittle me before I begin_

_The satisfactory station of life_

_Lives like a lie_

_And the broken-down bottles of beer on the bar_

_Empty before my eyes_

_As I step within sleep,_

_I can only weep_

_One single, solitary cry_

_ _

_I feel so empty._

_I've never been full._

_I feel so empty._

_And, I'll never feel more._

_ _

_I stare out at the empty day_

_Full of empty hopes_

_And the emptiness I feel inside my empty heart_

_Points me to an empty grave_

_And every empty bottle on the bar_

_Belittles me before I begin_

_I scream out these empty words_

_To an empty hall_

_And the emptiness flows from my empty eyes_

_Moving my empty soul_

_ _

_I feel so empty,_

_Like I've never been full_

_I feel so empty,_

_And now I'll never feel more_

_ _

_As every empty minute passes by my empty mind_

_In my empty room_

_I sit so still_

_And then I realize_

_I'm more empty than before_

_Empty lives for empty people_

_In their empty eyes_

_I can see my empty self_

_And all my empty lies_

_ _

_I feel so empty_

_And I'll never be full._

_I feel so empty,_

_But I'll always crave more._

_ _

_And this emptiness I feel_

_Inside my empty heart_

_Points me to an empty grave_

_And all the empty dreams_

_Inside my empty sleep_

_Show me that I must die_

_I'll die and be an empty shell,_

_But I'm already gone_

_ _

_I feel so empty_

_And I'll never feel full._

_I feel so empty,_

_But I'll forever crave more…._

Roger opened his eyes, the song decrescendoing to silence. Mark was asleep.

Roger sat in the room with Mark all morning. He watched as Mark slept, peaceful for once. He couldn't help but feel incredibly saddened by Mark hooked up to those machines, tubes, needles, and electronic devices. Mark no longer looked the same: he was helpless, dependent, and vulnerable. As Mark slumbered in tranquility, Roger gawked openly, noticing his tussled hair and bruised features. He felt that anger again – he wanted to find the men who did this to him and kill them; to strangle the very life from their bodies and to hear them say they were sorry. Poor Mark….

"Hey, babe," whispered Mimi, entering quietly, carrying a cup of coffee. She strolled up to Roger and they kissed gently. "I saw you left early. How long have you been here?"  
"Since around 7:30 or so," he replied as she handed him the coffee. "Thanks. Sorry I left that early, but I needed to be here."

"I know." She smiled, taking a seat next to him. "How is he?"

"He's better. Much better. He's talking really well now and he was able to listen to Rantings-a-la-Roger, so he must be recovering."

"Glad to hear, but I'm sorry I missed the ranting session." She smirked. "Usually, you sing to me. Should I be worried there's another Collins in the midst?"

"What's the big idea?" questioned Collins, entering the room with balloons in one hand, Mark's camera – filming – in the other. "You guys are always poking fun at my gayness. I don't make of you heteros, so leave me be!"

Roger laughed. "Go ahead, make fun of us. We don't care."

"Naw, you've taken the fun out of it now."

"What's with the balloons? Mark's hospitalized, not ten and getting his tonsils removed."

Collins grinned. "I had a hunch he'd want the cheering up. Besides, I need to talk to him when he comes around again."

Mark smiled, opening his eyes, revealing his three good friends. He laughed aloud, noticing the balloons. "You talk as if I'm dead. Should I be worried?"

"Mark!" Mimi cried happily.

"Hey there, Mark," whispered Collins, moving to his bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible. You?"

Collins shook his head. "Fine as always. You'll feel better once you see…_these_!" He held up the balloons, smiling cheerily. 

"Balloons?" Mark shook his head. "Uh...thanks?"

"Anytime. But, seriously, read the text on them."

Mark closed his eyes, shaking his head. "My eyes don't want to read those tiny words. What do they say?"

"They say, 'Please forgive me', 'Get well soon,' and 'I love you'."

"Uh…"

"Don't get any ideas, Mark. They were all out of 'I wish we'd never fought and I hope we'll always be friends', so I took what I could get."

Mark nodded. "I get the hint, Collins."

"So…? Do you forgive me? Trevor and I broke up, if that's anything…."

Mark smiled. "Forgive you for what? I was out of line… I'm stubborn. Gimmie a break."

Collins grinned. "So, we're settled?"

"Of course…. By the way, I really meant to thank you. I know it was you who brought me here to the hospital."

"Don't mention it, buddy."

"No, seriously. Without you, I might have died…. I'm really thankful."

Collins stepped closer, laying a hand on Mark's shoulder, gently. "You're very welcome."

Mark's eyes slammed shut as he felt himself transferred back in time to last night. Again, the feel of a man's hand on his shoulder made him tremble with fright and a dense sweat broke out over his façade, drenching him. He jerked frantically, even as Collins retracted his hand, and he began screaming. "Oh God…. No, please! Please, stop!" These cries were followed by whimpers and groans as he panted heavily.

"Shit!" exclaimed Roger, rushing out into the hall. "Doctor! Nurse! Help!" He raced back into the room and pushed Collins aside. "You can't touch him! He'll freak!"

"No! No! Roger! Someone…help me!"

Roger jerked his head towards Mark. Had he just called out his name? Mark writhed on the bed as the doctors came in to give him medication.

"Get out! All of you!" cried the doctor. "Calm down, Mark…"

Collins had to go back to work, as did Mimi, so Roger was left alone again to wait in the lobby. He was bored out of his mind. His guitar was in the room with Mark, and the doctors were in there doing various tests on Mark to make sure he was okay for releasing in a day or so. Roger prayed he was. Otherwise, he'd have to stay here until Mark was okay.

The doctor came out slowly from Mark's room, a perplexed look on his face. He glanced in once or twice more before closing the door softly and standing there gazing at it as if it was something strange and unique that he'd never seen before. Roger watched with a sense of anxiety. Something was not right.

"Doctor?" Roger called out. The doctor shook his head and forced a smile to him, coming to stand in the lobby. "Is something the matter?"

"What? Oh, no… Well, I don't think so, Roger. Just doing a few tests to make sure." He nodded and wandered off down the hallway.

Roger felt a twinge of wrongness in the way the doctor was acting. Something was wrong. He felt it clearly and it made him nervous. What could've happened to Mark? Was he not feeling better? Had he lost too much blood in the struggle with those men? Or worse, had he…. No, Roger wouldn't allow himself to think of that possibility. It _would not_ happen.

Roger jumped up as the nurse came to check on Mark. "Excuse me, miss?" he asked quietly, moving to stand beside her. "Can I go in?"

"As long as I'm in the room as well, yes."

She opened the door and smiled, watching Mark straighten himself up considerably. Mark did not want to seem weak. He hated always being feeble and frail.

"Hello, Mark," said the nurse entering. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Mark's eyes lit as he saw Roger entering. "Roger!"

"Hey, pal," replied Roger, taking his usual seat by his bedside. "Sorry about earlier…. Collins didn't –"

"I know." Mark forced a smile. "Did they all leave?"

"Yeah. They had –" The nurse moved in front of him to take out a few needles and let some medicine run through some tubing. Roger waited until she'd moved and then he continued. "They had to go to work. Consider yourself lucky I don't have work," he grinned.

"Are you sure that's lucky?" Mark retorted with a smirk.

Roger laughed and leaned back in the chair, watching as the nurse marked things down on her clipboard and replaced it to its holster.

"I'll be back to check on you again in a little while and give you you're lunch, Mark. Call if you need anything."

Mark nodded and smiled. "Okay. Thanks."

Turning to Roger, she raised a brow. "Try not to send him into shock this time, okay?" 

"Oh, okay," Roger replied, embarrassed.

She left quietly and swiftly, closing the door behind her.

"So, where's Benny? Didn't I see his smiling face leering over me yesterday?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, he had to go to work." Roger shook his head. "You wouldn't believe what happened last night, Mark…."

"What?"

"When I left the hospital – since our friendly neighborhood doctors decided I shouldn't stay because I was damaging to your health – I went home to find Maureen, Joanne, Benny, Collins, and Mimi all there together. Mark, it was amazing. It was like last year's Christmas, minus Mimi nearly dying and all…." He sighed. "I missed you, though."

Mark gave a cockeyed smile, lowering his eyes. "Aw, shucks."

"No, I mean it. It wasn't the same, y'know? I mean, everyone else was there, but it just wasn't home without you, Mark."

"I'll be home soon, Roger," he whispered, shrugging as much as his muscles would allow. "Don't be too downhearted." After a moment of silence, he continued. "Thanks, though…. I really didn't think you cared that much."

"What? How could you ever think that? God Mark, you saw me last night – I was a wreck!"

"Yeah, I know… I just didn't believe it. But, I do now. Thanks."

Roger nodded in response and sighed, leaning back again.

"So, where's my camera?" Mark asked, eagerly.

"Oh, it's right here. Collins left it for you." He picked it up off the floor and handed it to Mark. "Be careful now… Can you hold it?"

Mark laughed. "Can I hold it? Geez, Roger, I'm not an invalid." Mark's slender hands grasped the 16mm camera tightly, shaking a little as he struggled to hold it up. Roger was careful to hand it to him in such a way that their hands would not brush. He didn't want Mark to freak out again. Not ever again, if he could help it. Mark flicked it on and started filming, narrating in his quiet way. "Close on Roger…" Mark inhaled deeply, setting the camera down, his hands trembling. "Ha! Imagine that… You were right…"

Roger reached out and took the camera, filming Mark. "Zoom in on Mark, who pretends to be strong to impress Roger, but it never works." He smirked from behind the lens. "Here, in the flesh, I present to you Mark Cohen: the leader of a cult movement of underground porno videos – homemade, you know! – that feature not only the controversial filmmaker but his lesbian counterpart, Maureen Johnson, as well!"

Mark laughed, shaking his head. "Shut up, Roger."

"Ah, the truth comes out! Do you deny or come out with it?"

"I plead the fifth."

"That's as good as saying, 'I'm guilty', Mark." Roger smirked, about to turn it off.

"No, no… Keep filming. If I can't do it, someone's got to."

Roger nodded. "What shall I film, Mr. Filmmaker?"

Mark looked pensive for a moment and then smiled gently. "Life."


	5. Will I

*****Gotta give some credit where credit is due: Thanks to http://www.fifibear.com/emergence.html 

for the information on Emergence May Day Music Festival in Tompkins Square Park May 2, 1999

(yes, I changed the date to fit my story J). Thanks to http://www.wigstock.nu/history/index.html

for all the information on Wigstock, which sounds like a fun place to be (even though I don't cross-dress. 

Did you think otherwise? Hehe). Oh, one more thanks to give: Thanks to the RENT book for telling 

me exactly where Tompkins Square Park is in relation to the loft. Okay, that's all…for now.*****

After five days of being hospitalized, Mark was released to go home. Although he was still considerably weak and socially unstable, the doctors couldn't hold him in any longer. Mark felt caged in the hospital, and, even though he knew his strength was not yet up to par, he needed to get out of there. All that treatment and those needles and tubes and that damned heart monitor with its continuous beeping was enough to drive him insane.

So, Roger carefully helped Mark home, and was sure to only stand near him and not offer help. The last thing Mark wanted to hear was, 'Do you need assistance?'

Once they reached the loft, Mark's eyes lit up and a smile stretched across his pale face. "Home sweet home," he said with a chuckle.

Roger smiled too and fell onto the futon in the corner. "Ahh, it feels good to have an actual bed underneath me. Those lobby seats were killing my back."

"Yeah, the hospital bed wasn't any better. All that plastic and…" He shuddered. "Yuck."

Roger laughed, propping himself up on his elbows and watching Mark sit carefully down on one of the folding chairs. "Feels good to be home, huh?"

"Yeah…you bet." He smiled, picking up the camera that sat, wrapped in a big red bow, on the table. "Ah! I can finally hold it up and film!" He bit his lip, as excited as a little puppy – and just as adorably youthful, too. He flung the bow off, and, turning on the camera, he panned across the loft, narrating soothingly. "Here we find the loft – with its futon beds and illegal wood burning stove – in all its glory; untouched and pure, with the elegant grace of a poor-man's Shangri-La."

Roger shook his head, raising a brow. "Are you talking about our house or a woman? I can't seem to tell."

"Cute, Roger. Real cute."

Roger pursed his lips, winking and turning to lie on his back. "I try." He stared up at the cracked ceiling and smiled happily. Things were finally returning to normal. Or so he thought.

Two days passed peacefully with everything returning to the usual routine. Mark walked slowly, but steadily, around NYC – careful to stay away from alleys – while Roger sat for hours writing – or _attempting_ to write – songs for the movie that Mark would surely finish before he even got through a full song. Benny promised to return for the rent in two months time, at which time he would demand three months' rent with interest – that is, if he was in a _good_ mood. Joanne and Maureen were in a lover's tiff, as usual, and had split up for a period TBA. Mark, with all his old habits returning, offered Maureen a place to stay, and she, being always in her usual habits, had agreed readily and had taken over Roger's corner futon. Roger shrugged it off, letting Mark do what he pleased, just to make things easier. Besides, it would be useless to argue with Maureen. She won every argument – or didn't mention those she lost.

"Roger, listen to this!" Maureen cried, jumping atop the table in the middle of the room, clearing her throat. Roger looked up from where he sat (on the floor, leaning against the wall across from her) and set down his guitar momentarily. This was her third interruption. "Okay, this is it! This is the one!"

Roger rolled his eyes, forcing a smile and nodding. "Go ahead."

"When at last I had found myself freed from the chains that bound me, I was left panting and drooling over the large burnt turkey in the corner street window…."

Roger's thoughts strayed elsewhere. Maureen was protesting, yet again. What was it this time? Sometimes, it was hard to tell. However, Mark had explained that she was protesting the capitalists' Thanksgiving. Roger could care less, though. He hated listening to Maureen ramble on. He often wondered if she was an artist or a politician. Sometimes, the lines between were blurred.

"….And as I reached in my pocket, I found it bare!" she continued, oblivious. "Bare – nothing but my craving for the marrow of life! I screamed," here, she inserted a long pause as her eyes surveyed an imaginary audience, "But silence abounded beside my exposed ears and everyone scrambled away from my poor façade, as if I were cursed with leprosy…."

Again, Roger blocked out her voice, staring at her but not seeing her at all. Her image melted away into nothingness as his mind wandered. It was now the day before Thanksgiving and he had much to be thankful for, but something was tugging at his stomach muscles, making them churn uneasily with an apprehensive prediction of a catastrophe soon to be. Mark had been called down to the police station twice to try and identify the men who raped and beat him. Both times had yielded nothing. Mark recognized no one and knew that when he did, it would not be good.

"….Their hands grabbed my wrist, where that intolerable ticking was tocking as I strolled! They made me bleed and writhe and yet I found myself saying, 'Money is everything. Money is good. Money makes the world….'"

That's where Mark was right now: down at the police station, checking the lineup once again to see if he recognized any of them. Roger worried over this. What would happen if Mark did, in fact, recognize one of them? He might faint or something worse….

"….And then I scream out with my lungs full of hate! I've given in to that corruption! I've given up my innocence to those insensitive bastards who…."

Mark was still weak, although he didn't admit it to anyone, and he still was afraid to let anyone touch him. Every time Roger got within an inch distance (which he didn't allow himself to do often, for Mark's sake), Mark would tremble and break out in a sweat and would have to lie down for a while. These instances scared the hell out of Roger. And, since Mark had been gone most of the day, he was worrying even more than usual.

"….As they bind my hands behind my back, I struggle and break free, shouting, 'Viva America!'" Here, she took a long breath and sang out with all her might, "'Viva America!' Say it with me, Roger! 'Viva America!'"

Hearing his name yelled out so loud and high-pitched, he was shaken from his musing trance. "Wh-What?"

"Say it with me! 'Viva America!'" Her eyes were wide and bright as she reached out to him with both hands, egging him on.

"Uhh…Viva America?" he asked, confused.

Maureen's shoulders drooped heavily and she rolled her eyes, stomping off the table. "Were you listening at all?"

"Uhh…"

She growled in a huff and threw her hands in the air. "I don't know how anyone can expect me to put on this damn production piece of shit tomorrow! I seriously think you all want me to be lousy! And that damned girlfriend – _ex-_girlfriend of mine with all her shit-spinning…."

Roger stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes momentarily. He could stand this for about two more seconds – maximum. "Maureen, please, just –"

"….And with all that crap I've been put through as she accuses me – _me!_ – of flirting with Mark and Benny and God knows who else! And then, you have the gall to –"

"Maureen!" Roger yelled, louder than he'd meant to. "Please! Shut up!"

She glared at him harshly and plopped down on his futon in the corner (which now belonged to her), but not before her middle finger rose triumphantly as her tongue was pointed directly at him. "Shithead," she whispered under her breath, pouting.

Roger rolled his eyes, leaning his head back. He wished that she and Joanne would just make up already so that he could go back to living normally with Mark. It was such a burden having her always nearby. Just as he was about to tell her what he thought of her – and her so-called performance – the door swung open slowly, revealing a very disheveled Mark, camera in hand at his side, off. He looked as if he'd just waken from a two-day nap.

"Mark?" Roger whispered, cocking his head to one side.

"Hey guys," he replied with a strained smile. "What's up?"

"You okay?" Roger continued, oblivious to Mark's question.

"Um…yeah, I think so." He closed his eyes, sighing and taking a seat in a folding chair.

"What happened at the police station?" Maureen asked, having already forgotten that she should be angry with Roger.

"Oh," Mark exhaled with a shrug, "They found two of the guys."

"That's great!" Maureen smiled.

Mark's fake smile reappeared. "Yeah…"

"Shit!" Maureen exclaimed, glancing at her watch. "I've gotta go, honey. I need to recruit performers to help with tomorrows protest. Wanna come? I could use the company."

Mark shook his head, setting the camera down on the table in front of him. "No, but thanks anyway. You should call Joanne and make up. She would help, you know."

Maureen pinched his cheek. "She'll call when she's tired of being lonely," she said with a huffy attitude. "Ta-ta!" She made a fashionable exit, flinging her purse over her shoulder as she flew out the door.

Mark watched her leave with a silence that made Roger wonder what was up. Mark's quiet manner was not normal for some reason. Something must've happened.

"Mark? You sure you're okay?"

Mark didn't answer right away, but after a short pause he shook his head, smiling. "Yeah, fine."

Roger took a seat next to Mark and watched him. "Somehow I don't believe you. What happened?"  
"Oh…. Well, I IDed the two guys and they're looking for the others now."

"That's it?"

"And…."

"What is it, Mark?"

Mark let his head drop to rest in his hands and, by the trembling of his body, Roger could tell that his best friend was sobbing.

"Mark! What happened? Tell me!" Roger reached out helplessly, knowing he couldn't do anything – not even hug him for comfort.

"One of the guys…. They…they…" His voice trailed off through the sobs. "He… he had…. Oh God, Roger! The man…he had AIDS!"

Roger's jaw dropped and he unknowingly reached out, in more of an unconscious reaction than anything else, and gathered the tremulous Mark into his arms. Mark cried out, but Roger persisted, fully aware of what he was doing now. Mark's eyes slammed shut as images flashed before his eyes.

"No, Mark, it's okay! C'mon, calm down."

"No! Let me go! Oh God, please!" Mark cried, pushing his arms in between their bodies. "Please, please!"

"Mark! It's me, _Roger…. I'm not going to hurt you!" he whispered urgently, trying to get Mark to recognize him. "It's __me, Mark! It's Roger." Mark twitched and cried out, and Roger held him at arm's length away from him by his arms. "Mark, look at me! __Look at me! It's Roger, your friend, your roommate! Open your eyes, Mark, and just look!"_

Slowly, Mark's eyes opened and he was breathless for a few moments as his body calmed and stopped shaking. Their eyes held each other's for a few tense moments before Mark slipped down from the chair and slid to the floor, falling forwards on his stomach. Roger was swiftly down, kneeling by his side.

"Mark! Mark, are you okay?"

"N-no…." he breathed so softly that Roger almost couldn't hear. Mark's head lifted and his eyes timidly met Roger's. He was trembling still, but at least he could stand to be near Roger again. Just as softly as before, Mark spoke with quivering words, "I don't wanna die, Roger…. I don't wanna die."

"You won't die!" cried Roger, reaching for Mark. But, Mark jerked away, crawling back until he was against the wall. "Mark…. Maybe the tests are wrong… Maybe –"

"No, the tests weren't wrong…."

"Maybe you don't –"

"I don't wanna listen anymore, Roger. Just leave me alone. God, for once in your life, just leave me alone!"

Mark held the camera before his face and filmed absentmindedly. "Close on Mark Cohen, who is a weak, stupid kid who can never manage to catch a break…." He sighed, leaning back against the wall.

He hadn't moved a muscle (literally) since Roger had left, provoked by Mark's harsh words, which he now regretted. Roger had been the only one to ever help him with his problems. Of course, Collins would listen, if he had the time, and Joanne would most assuredly take time out from her busy schedule, but he always felt like a nuisance around her, and maybe even Mimi would coo and tell him everything would be all right. Benny and Maureen wouldn't care…. Well, maybe Maureen, if she felt like it. But Roger was always the one who worried over him, whether he had the time or not. That was just one of those things that made Roger his best friend; that kept him as a best friend for all these years.

Mark set the camera down, letting his head rest against the wall behind him. "Nice going, Mark," he spoke to himself in a light whisper, "But why should I care about him? Damn it, why? I've got enough problems to work out on my own. I probably have AIDS, I've been raped and beaten severely, and I'm still so fuckin' unstable that I can't handle anyone touching me! So, why let Roger try to help when I know he'll only hinder?" Closing his eyes, he felt hot tears burning. He wouldn't allow them to fall, though. He'd cried enough today already…. He just couldn't forget all the things he and Roger had just said:

_"Leave you alone?" Roger cried, more hurt than angry. "Why? I'm only trying to --"_

_"I know, Roger," Mark growled, wrapping his arms about himself. "Just go…. Please, I don't want –"_

_"Don't want me to help, is that it? Goddamn it, Mark! Don't you get it? I'm trying my fuckin' best to just be there for you and be your friend, but if you're not even going to try –"_

_"I can't help it!" Mark screamed, jumping to his feat and stepping up to Roger. "I've been fuckin' raped, damn it! Do you have any idea how I feel?"_

_Roger glared, now angry. "If you think I sat there by your side in that stupid hospital because I **didn't** know how you felt, then I don't know how we're still friends!"_

_Tears flowed from Mark's eyes and he thrust his fists forward towards Roger, pounding against his chest with all the built-up rage that he'd been trying to mask for the past week. "Damn you, Roger! Fuck you!"_

_"Mark! Mark!" Roger cried, holding his fists still with little effort, for Mark was still weak. "What's wrong with you?"_

_"Get the hell away from me! Stop touching me! Do you have any idea how you're hurting me?"_

_"Yes!" Roger threw Mark's hands away. "And I'm trying to –"_

_"Well **stop** trying!" Mark cried, sinking to his knees and then falling back to his original position against the wall. "Please…. Just stop…."_

_"Fine! If you wanna be like that, fine!" Roger grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him. "**Fuckin' fine**!"_

Mark hadn't stopped Roger from leaving. He'd let him walk out for an unknown amount of time. Would he ever even come back? Roger was prone to fits of rage where he might stay out 'til all hours of the morning, wandering NYC aimlessly. But, Mark was still angry, and he told himself he didn't care if Roger ever did come back. It would be better if he didn't, he told himself. But, of course, the one thing he wanted was his best friend. Nothing else mattered – not if he had AIDS, not his brutal incident with those men in the alley, not Maureen's performance tomorrow, not the rent due in two month's time: nothing. 

Meanwhile, Roger wandered the street, as Mark would have suspected. But, Roger was not only doing this because Mark was angry and had said things he didn't mean; he was doing it to find the other men who'd beaten on Mark, if he happened upon them.

He had stopped by the police station and asked the cop on duty what the other men looked like, presumably. He'd found the photos the other men had supplied them with and had gone out with the faces imprinted in his mind. If he saw them, they would die – no second thoughts, no regrets.

In all truthfulness, he didn't want to find them and give them what they deserved. He needed time away from everything that was troubling him – mainly, his friends. He didn't feel upset that Mark had told him off, or that he himself had been just as ignorant to Mark's feelings. He just felt tired of life in general and everything about the status quo. He and Mimi hadn't discussed the child they were to have at all since that day at the hospital. He needed desperately to talk to her, but lately she'd been absent every time he was free.

He stopped wandering when he reached Tompkins Square Park. He needed a distraction, and where better to get one than the park famous for fun and relaxation 24/7? He smiled slightly, watching the crowd before him. It was the Emergence Day Music Festival, 1998. This was the third of such festivals held in the same dingy old park, which was in surprisingly good condition after the riots of the '80's and the large riot last year after Maureen's performance, located between the cross-sections of Avenues A and B and 7th and 10th street. The celebration this year would last all day, and it was nearing nightfall as he walked upon it. In fact, Maureen's performance tomorrow afternoon would be held just outside this park. He grinned, thinking of all the people who would join her protest and vow never to eat turkey again because of its capitalistic beginnings. How would she ever manage to persuade them with that crappy narrative of hers, which he hadn't heard but a few words of?

But, putting all thoughts of Maureen and her sure-to-shock protest tomorrow aside, Roger entered the free festivity with mostly wonder, but a little of doubt mixed in. He didn't want to forget all his problems and enjoy himself, but what else was there to do? He couldn't go back. Mark wanted space for a little while, and it was the least he could do to give that to him, although he knew it wasn't what Mark truly wanted. Besides, this festival was an interesting Tompkins Square Park tradition and had been since the Greatful Dead concert back in the late '70's. He almost laughed aloud as a few teenagers skipped past him wearing the now in-style skin-tight shirts, baggy jeans and backpacks with stickers blanketing them. These kids mixed in nicely with the park regulars who came every day to chill out and enjoy life's simple pleasures: perhaps a game of chess at the chess tables, or maybe a glance at a dog run on the opposite side of the park. In any rate, the park was full of Electronica freaks. Yes, this celebration was after the famous Summer of Electronica. Roger didn't particularly like this type of music, but anything to get his mind off of life.

To his surprise, he saw Collins sitting at a chess table, preying on an unsuspecting teen, who surely didn't know his pawns from the chessboard.

"Collins!" Roger waved, rushing up to him, glad for the company in this strange environment.

"Hey Roger!" Collins grinned, looking up from the game. "What are you doing here?"  
"I'd ask you the same thing. No work?"

"Naw, I get off once a year or so," he replied with a grin.

"Why haven't you come by the loft?"

"Maureen's practicing her speech, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

"That's why." He resumed the game, staring at the kid across from him. "C'mon kid, give up! I've got you right where I want you." He grinned, maliciously.

"Hell naw!" cried the kid, scratching an imaginary beard thoughtfully.

Collins relaxed, sitting back and folded his arms, turning his attention back to Roger with interest. "So, what brings you here? I thought you hated all this bass."

Roger shrugged. "I do, but Mark didn't want me around because… well, for reasons of his own, I guess…."

"Mark's stubborn as a mule." Collins reached out without taking his attention from Roger and moved a chess piece without a second thought. The kid looked astonished to find himself cornered with no alternatives. "Checkmate."

"Aw, hell!" The kid grunted and scratched his head, standing to his feet. "You always win," he pouted.

Collins laughed, standing and shaking hands. "No, you always lose."

"What's the difference?"

"Not a thing, but I like saying you lost." He smirked. "Come back tomorrow, Jimmy, and we'll play another game. I might even teach you a few pointers."

"Naw, not tomorrow," the kid replied with a frown. "The next day."

"Still not 'out'?"

Jimmy shook his head, somewhat disappointedly. "See ya," he whispered, running off.

"What's tomorrow?" Roger asked, watching the kid take off and taking a seat opposite Collins.

Collins laughed heartily. "Thanksgiving."

Roger rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I _know that. But, what with the talk of, 'still not __out'?"_

"Oh, _that…." Collins shrugged with a sad smile. "Tomorrow's Wigstock."_

"Wigstock?"

"Yeah…. You want the backstory?"

"Seeing as how I have no clue what you're talking about, sure."

Collins cleared his throat, narrating proudly: "Late one night in the spring of '84 a drunken group of friends, seeking more diversions, closed the Pyramid Club and traipsed over to Tompkins Square Park, six-packs in tow. The friends, Brian Butterick, Michael "Kitty" Ullman, Wendy Wild, The _"Lady"_ Bunny and a few members of the Fleshtones, were horsing around in the bandshell when someone (no one remembers who, it's all such a blur) came up with the idea of putting on a show - a day-long drag festival - and calling it _Wigstock_. And thus," he concluded while straightening his posture, "Wigstock was born."

"What an…interesting story," Roger laughed. "How come you're going? Well, I _assume_ you're going."

"And I am. It's nice to meet all the people there. It's nothing like you'd think it'd be, Roger. And…it reminds me of Angel." He smiled softly. "It's a nice reminder."

Roger nodded. "But, why doesn't the kid want to come? Does he not approve of cross-dressing?"

"He's gay, but can't admit it to his parents yet. He also has AIDS, but no one but me and a select few gang member friends of his know that."

"He's a gang member?" Roger asked, surprised. "And he's got AIDS? Poor kid…"

"Yeah. I'm trying to clean him up, if that's at all possible."

"Well, you got him to play chess. That's a start."

Collins smiled happily again. "True." He paused for a short moment. "Care to join the festivities tomorrow?"

"Uhhh…."

"You don't have to cross-dress, Roger!" Collins chuckled, standing to his feet. Roger did the same. "I'm not going drag. It's not my style."

"Not mine either," Roger said while they walked.

"Uh huh, only on the weekends, right?"

"Right." Roger smiled.

"Well, come anyway. C'mon, it's either this or Maureen's performance." They both cringed.

"I'll come."

Mark sat on top of the folding table, watching the door intensely. Roger had been gone for nearly half the day, worrying Mark to death. Maureen had come back, only to say that she and Joanne were cool and that she was moving back with "Jo-Jo". Mimi had come home again but had fallen asleep waiting up for Roger.

Holding the camera up to his face, Mark filmed, turning away from the door. "Once again, the solitary filmmaker sits – alone – wishing for something to keep him going." He paused thoughtfully, sighing with a frown. "Why are some of the best films those which have never been seen?" he asked with quivering lips. "And those which cost millions are never quite as big as they seem when viewed in close-up; the pixels become blurry and the picture is distorted. Why is it when everything seems to be going perfect and fine, something just has to happen to fuck it all up and send you spiraling down the lens, praying you get out before they turn the projector on? For, when they flip the switch to view your life, you find out it's a sham…. And why am I constantly the one to be pondering life's inconsequential inquiries? Why am I unaccompanied and by myself – so much alone?"

Roger stood in the doorway, leaning against it, holding something small in his hands. He was silent, listening contently to Mark's ramblings. How else could he know exactly what his best friend was thinking?

Mark zoomed in on his own features. "Let's take a close-up view of the biggest fraud in NYC," he whispered sadly. "Am I really such a hypocrite?" His eyes were distraught and fuzzy in the camera's lens – exactly the effect he was looking for.

Roger shrugged, choosing now to speak, before Mark went further into depression. "Not really." Mark nearly dropped the camera, jumping a little off the table. "But, you do have a tendency to break out into poetic verse and talk with yourself." Roger smiled slightly.

Mark mimicked the thin smile, and, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, he spoke, "Hey, Roger."

"Hey," Roger replied, stepping inside the loft fully and moving to sit next to Mark on the table.

"Where've you been?"

"I went to see the Emergence Day Festival and ran into Collins."

"Oh? How was it?"

"What? The Music Festival?"

"Yeah."

Roger laughed, swinging his legs and watching them. "Pretty lame," he laughed.

Mark slipped off the table, taking his camera along and pretended to fix it further away. "Have fun?"

Roger looked up and cocked his head to the side. "No."

Mark stopped momentarily and then went on. "Not even with Collins?"

"Well, yeah, Collins is fun…. But, I really didn't want to be there."

"Oh?"

Roger rolled his eyes, sighed, and jumped off the table, walking towards Mark. "You know I didn't have any fun. Whenever we fight, especially over nothing – what else do we fight about? – I feel like shit."

Mark nodded, but didn't reply.

"Geez, Mark," Roger said, shaking his head, "You're so stubborn."

Mark glared, turning his head and setting the camera down. "So? Some find that an astonishingly handsome trait."

"Are they human?"

"Shut up, Roger."

"Look, I just want to say that I'm sorry for whatever I did that upset you. I know it wasn't the fact that I was trying to help. I know what's eating away at you, Mark, and you know it too – you're scared."

"I am not –"

"Don't try to deny it, because I've been exactly where you are right now, and I was terrified. I felt like nobody understood, no one cared, and that no one _wanted to care."_

Mark sighed, slumping into a chair.

"Is that how you feel, Mark? Tell me it is, and we'll work through it together. You know I'll do anything to help – anything at all. I'll be there for you like you were for me when April died."

Mark looked up and swallowed. "Roger, I'm so fuckin' scared that I can't breath…. It's eating me alive."

Roger sat down beside him and sighed, offering him what he'd been holding in his hands since he'd returned. "Here, have this. It'll make all your problems go away. It's a present from Collins."

Mark smiled, shaking his head. It was a Fugi Camera. His smiled was melancholy, however, and he hung his head, setting the camera down. "God Roger, how the hell do I get through this? How did _you get through this?"_

"Unfortunately, I didn't…. But, Mark, you don't know that you have AIDS. Don't worry about it until you know for sure. There's no use terrifying yourself out of your mind if you don't have anything to base it on."

Mark tried to smile. "Didn't I say that to you a week ago about Benny and Mimi?"

Roger laughed. "Yeah."

"Geez, has it been that long since everything was normal?" Mark whispered despairingly.

"Yeah…."

"And tomorrow's Thanksgiving." He frowned heavily. "Roger, please, you gotta help me…. I don't think I can hang on much longer…."

"Don't say that, Mark! God, I'll help you in whatever you need, you know that! Don't worry, pal; you'll make it through. I promise."

Mark hung down and placed his head in his hands. "I just don't want to suffer anymore, Roger…. No more…."

Roger hugged him gently, and, for a moment, Mark trembled, but soon he ceased and was silent. For the first time in a long while, Mark allowed himself to be hugged and to feel weak in front of another person. Mark clung to his best friend – the only friend he felt he had right now – with a determination that was heart rendering.

Through choked sobs, Mark whispered, "Thank you…."

To which Roger could only reply, "Any time…"

"Rise and shine, shnookums!" cried Roger, messing with Mark's hair while he tried to sleep. This time, it was the musician's turn to arouse the filmmaker.

Mark opened his eyes lazily and grinned, rolling over on his back and glaring up at Roger. "Why Roger…. You're up before me? What's the occasion?"

"Get your ass out of bed and I _might tell you."_

"I've heard that line before."

"You should have. You said it."

Mark sat up and yawned, stretching out his limbs freely as Roger walked away. The smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes filled the air and Mark was instantly drawn to it. "What smells so good?" he asked, his mouth watering.

Roger grinned. "That's breakfast-ala-Collins."

Mark quirked a brow."What happened?" He paused, his eyes widening as he jumped from the futon. "Uh oh, did you break my camera again?"

"What?" Roger questioned with sarcasm. "Why would I do that? And what makes you think I did?"

"Well, two reasons: 1) because you have before, and 2) because you don't cook – ever."

"Okay, two reasons I resent that: 1) because it wasn't my fault the first time, and 2) because you said you liked my chicken fritters last night." He winked, laughing. "Now, sit down and relax. Don't be so jumpy."

"In this house? Who's not jumpy?"

"Not me!" cried Mimi, bounding into the room from outside, carrying a tall jug of milk in one hand and a bag in the other. "Morning everyone." She pushed Mark down in the futon, sitting beside him.

"Hey, calm down, Mimi," Roger berated, "In your condition, you shouldn't –"

"In my condition…. _In my condition! You hush over there, cooky-boy, and let me be."_

"What kind of a man would I be then?"

"A good one?"

Roger grumbled. Mimi twirled a finger around Mark's hair and giggled. "Did ya sleep well?"

"Uh, I –"

"Good! Roger, how's breakfast coming?"

"I slept fine. And how about you?" Mark continued quietly to himself.

"Coming along nicely," Roger replied with a grin. "In faaa-aact…." He appeared before them with a tray full of breakfast foods. "Here it is! Voila!"

Mark watched, slightly horrified, as Roger set the tray down in front of him and Mimi jumped to her feet. 

"Okay, what the hell's going on here?" Mark asked, confused. "Breakfast in bed? What's gotten into you two?"

"Nothin'," they both cooed with big smiles on their faces.

"Just felt like doing something nice for you," Mimi said.

"Yeah, what's the matter? You don't like it?"

"Oh no, it's wonderful." Mark laughed and started eating. "Just curious," he continued with a mouthful of pancakes.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," chimed Maureen, entering with gusto from the front door. Every entrance was planned and executed perfecting. She wore a white, skin-tight shirt with the words 'Turkey + Capitalism = Thanksgiving = Evil' written in big, black, bold letters. Along with that, she wore baggy tan pants and big combat boots.

"You look like you're out to stop a revolution," Roger said, shaking his head as he looked over the outfit.

"I am!" she replied in a huff. "The _Capitalist revolution."_

"Ah…."

"Mmm! Somethin' smells good!" She sniffed her way over to Mark and sat down beside him with a cute smile on her lips. "Can I –"

"Don't even think about it!" cried Joanne from the doorway, entering. "Get your hooker ass away from Mark!" she continued with a laugh.

"Hey, don't insult us hookers," Mimi retorted, sticking out her tongue. "We work just as hard as the lot of you! Don't we, Roger?"  
Roger grinned. "O'course we do."

Mark stood. "Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore."

"What?" asked Collins, entering the loft. "You don't like my breakfast?" He pretended to pout. "And after all that trouble I went through to buy it all!"

Mark smiled, throwing his head back in laughter and falling back down onto the futon. Holding his sides, he rocked back and forth. They all stared at him in confusion.

"Mark? You okay?" asked Collins, raising an eyebrow.

Mark wiped a tear away from laughing so hard and smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine." He stuck a fork in his breakfast and started to eat again. "C'mon, I'm not gonna be the only one eating. Grab a plate – if, that is, you can find any around here – and have Mr. Cook Collins over there fix you all something."

Collins grinned, laughing. "In all truthfulness, I don't cook. I went out to McDonald's early this morning."

Mark leaned against the wall, smiling gently. "I figured."

Wigfest '98 was to be the biggest and best of all the previous of such festivities. It was expected to draw 11,000 or more people this year. Among those attending this year were Collins, Mimi, Mark, and Roger. Joanne had gone along with Maureen to help with the performance and the others had sworn to be there in time to view it, although none were too excited about it. No one, that is, save Maureen herself.

It was a bit odd for the four friends to find themselves among the thousands of drag queens, but they found it a very homely experience. Oddly enough, they were used to it. New York was an interesting place, after all, and ever since Angel's death, all of them had been given a different outlook on cross-dressing. Collins seemed right at home, mingling among the attendants, and Mimi found herself going along with him. Roger strolled around just taking it all in. And Mark? He filmed.

"Isn't this great?" cried Mark happily, turning the camera every which way to try and catch everything as it unfolded. "What a reel this will be! I'll be sure to get some amazing footage from this!"

Roger shook his head, laughing. "Sure. Sounds good."

Mark barely heard Roger as he continued to film, panning his way to the stage, where one of the more attractive drag queens was singing a song, complete with an orchestra behind her. Mark smiled, watching her strut her stuff provocatively across the stage, waving and receiving catcalls from various members of the audience, one of which, he noticed was Collins.

Roger was quiet, just watching it all. He was having a good time, despite how sick he felt inside. Mark was happy – for now. But what would happen when the doctor called today – today, of all days! – to give the results from Mark's blood test?

"C'mon, Roger!" Mark nudged his friend out of his musings with an elbow in his side, playfully. "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself."

Roger put on a smile, shrugging. "I am."

"Don't lie." Mark turned the camera off. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I swear, I'm happy."

Mark rolled his eyes and took a seat at an open bench. Roger sat beside him. "I don't believe you." Mark frowned suddenly. "Are you thinking about the call?"

Roger let out a breath, nodding. "Yeah."

"Me too…. But, if we dwell on it, I'll lose it."

"I know. I'm sorry, I just can't stop thinking about it."

Mark laughed lightly. "_You can't stop thinking about it? How do you think I feel?"_

He shrugged. "I know…. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Please, stop being sorry. I can be sorry enough for us both."

Roger nodded. "Well, c'mon, Mr. Filmmaker. This is your day – Thanksgiving. What do you want to do first?"

Mark grinned devilishly. "You won't like it."

"What? Why not?" He thought a moment and then shook his head. "No. Oh no…"

"Yes!" His grin widened. "I want to see Maureen's performance."


	6. Hello, Disease

The day wore on. Collins and Mimi stuck together, watching (and joining in) with some of the performances onstage. Mark and Roger strolled about the grounds, stopping every five seconds for Mark to interview a drag queen or to film the latest piece that was being presented. And, Maureen and Joanne were back at the stage, setting up for tonight's performance.

            "Don't start with me, Maureen," growled Joanne from up on top of the small catwalk on the stage. "You know I'm no good with electronics! I don't know why the hell I even let you…." Her voice trailed off as she stuck her head behind the lighting fixtures.

            Maureen rolled her eyes. "Well I don't either. You're better at all this than me, so shut up."

            Joanne narrowed her eyes, peering down towards Maureen. "What was that?"

            Maureen smiled and shrugged, picking up a cord and pretending to toy with it. "Nothing."

            "Uh huh…" Joanne went back to work. "So what exactly is this about, anyway?"

            Maureen grinned, standing straight in a triumphant pose, holding up the cord. "I'm protesting Thanksgiving!"

            "So I heard…. What for?"

            "The holiday is evil, pookie," she said, climbing the ladder to be near Joanne while dropping the cord. Once at the top, she knelt behind Joanne. "Its roots lie in stealing, leading to a capitalist holiday that only furthers the careers of bigots and chumps like Benny."

            Joanne craned her neck to look back at Maureen. "What's your deal with Benny? Isn't he letting you use this lot?"

            "Not for free, he's not!"

            Joanne laughed, nodding, going back to work. "I should've known. But, darling, nothing's free nowadays. At least he's not trying to stop this."

            "Whose side are you on?" Maureen asked, playfully slapping her girlfriend's behind and strutting back to the ladder.

            "I'll be on Benny's if you don't get back to work." She looked up. "Or should I say, get __to work? Not that you've been working at all so far…."

            "Angry, cookie?" She bit her lip, batting her eyes gleefully.

            Joanne looked up and tossed a screwdriver at Maureen. "Screw."

            "__What?" asked Maureen with a shocked attitude as she caught the tool in her hands. She turned it over thoughtfully. "What do I do with this?"

            Joanne rolled her eyes. "It's a screwdriver, Maureen."

            Maureen giggled, snickering. "A…what?"

            "Shut up and get to work. If you want to do this performance of yours, you're going to have to do something. I'm not doing all your work for you."

            "But…pookie –"

            "Don't you 'but pookie' me." She gestured for Maureen to climb down. "Go."

            Maureen grumbled but dutifully climbed down and got to work, although Joanne would definitely have to fix whatever mistakes she made.

            "Excuse me, are you Tom Collins?"

            "I am…. Do I know you?"  
            "I don't think so, but you were Angel's lover, right?"

            Collins smiled gently, accepting the hand that was offered by a tall, lithe man in a skin-tight red leather shirt and a pair of black leather pants (equally as tight). To complete his outfit, the man wore black snakeskin high-heeled boots and wore a long, straight, blazing crimson wig. He was of Latin descent with a blonde short mustache and goatee.  "Yes, I was."

            "I'm Gene Morison, but I'm better known around here as 'Genie'," the man replied as they shook hands.

            Mimi smiled and held out her hand as well. "I'm Mimi. Nice to meet you."

            "Oh the pleasure's mine, definitely," he continued, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "Now, either you're the most beautiful drag queen I've ever seen or you're actually a woman."

            Mimi giggled. "I'll opt for the latter."

            "That's what I thought." He smiled.

            Collins spoke up, "You knew Angel?"

            "Oh yes! Everyone here remembers Angel," he whispered urgently with a smile and a nod of his head. "And I knew you must be the Collins she spoke of from the moment I saw you down in the audience."

            "You were onstage?" Collins asked. "Oh yeah! I should've remembered when I heard the name Genie."

            Genie nodded. "I've been performing here for years. Angel performed a few years back. Oh, she had so much talent! That girl could play the drums like a maniac!"

            "You can say that again," replied Collins with a grin.

            "Well, Mimi's got other things to do, boys," she said, patting them both on the back, "So, I'll leave you to your reminiscences."

            "It was lovely to meet you, Mimi. Hopefully, I'll see you around again…?"

            "You can bet on that. After the compliment you gave me, I'll be back expecting more." She grinned and trotted off with a wave of her hand, disappearing quickly in the crowd.

            Collins and Genie stood for a few moments in silence, both remembering Angel in their own passive ways.

            "Walk with me, Tom," said Genie, gesturing for Collins to follow.

            Collins nodded, only adding, "Friends call me Collins." He followed beside Genie.

            "Okay, Collins."

            They walked along in quiet contemplation until they reached a part of the park where there weren't as many people around. 

            "Here we are," continued Genie quietly, taking a seat in the cool grass. Collins sat down across from him. "So, how come you don't go drag?"

            Collins chuckled. "I don't have the legs for it."

            "No, seriously…"

            "Oh, well… I don't really know." He shrugged. "I guess I've just never tried it. I loved to see Angel in all her dresses and fancy outfits that were usually made from stuff she found lying around in the streets, but I just never felt the need to wear nylons or high heels."

            Genie smiled, nodding. "Good reason. But, you do have the legs for it."  He winked.

            Collins raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "Are you flirting?"

            "Maybe." He shrugged, indifferently with another wink.

            "Ah-ha! You are." Collins laughed, leaning back again. Another few moments of silence followed before Collins found courage to speak up. "Look, Genie, I'm not really looking for a relationship or anything right now."

            "Do you think that's why I took you here?" Genie smirked, laughing. "I just wanted to get to know you. Angel said so many wonderful things about you…. I was always so jealous."

            "Oh?" Collins blushed.

            "Yeah…." He shrugged, sitting up straighter. "To tell you the truth, I'm not really looking for any kind of relationship either, Collins, but I am always looking for friends. That's one thing I can never have too many of."

            Collins nodded. "Well, if friends is what you're after, I know of a few good ones. Come have dinner with us all tonight, and you'll see what I mean."

            "That sounds like a date," Genie joked.

            "It is what it is," Collins retorted in a philosophical manner. "It's merely an invitation. Do you accept?"

            "I do." Genie stood, as did Collins. "Just promise me there will be turkey there. With all this talk of the turkey-protest tonight over in the 11th street lot, I'm afraid."

            Collins chuckled, throwing his head back and slapping Genie on the back. "Is that what they're calling it? The Turkey Protest? Oh, Maureen will be delighted!"

            "Who's Maureen?"

            "You'll see," he smirked.

            After Mimi broke away from Collins and Genie, leaving them to their private conversation, she strolled down the streets, making her way to the lot where Maureen would host her protest of Thanksgiving, which Mimi didn't think too exciting, but had to see it, since Maureen was a close friend. As she walked, she felt her stomach churning. Something wasn't right today. She had been feeling so sick lately – vomiting a lot and sleeping even more. Unbeknownst to Roger, she'd taken a few days off from work and had slept over at Collins' dorm room at NYC, where he had reverted to his old standards of teaching Computer-Age Philosophy. Mimi had taken those days off to just sleep and rest, but they hadn't helped at all. This was the reason that she'd distanced herself from Roger lately – she didn't want him to find out she was sick. She knew of too many options for what this sickness could be – another fit from not having her drugs for too long, AIDS, or the pregnancy. Instead of dwelling on it, she'd taken the Mark Cohen approach and decided to think of other things and get her mind off of it all.

            She now found herself at the lot, looking up at the stage, which had grown in size since Maureen's last performance there. She smiled, spotting Joanne swinging from the catwalk up top and Maureen working on some planks of the stage's floorboards.

            "Hey guys," she called out, walking swiftly up to the stage.

            "Hey babe!" Maureen called, dropping the hammer and nails and bounding off the stage. She had been looking for some kind of excuse to stop "working", and now she'd found one. "What brings you here so early?"

            "I split away from the boys at Wigfest, because I need a woman's day today." She smirked. "Men just screw things up."

            "Or down," Maureen giggled.

            "Maureen, get your ass back to work… or whatever it is you were doing," called Joanne, climbing carefully down the ladder. She noticed Mimi and smiled, waving. "Mimi!"

            "Hey Joanne."

            Joanne finished her descent and slapped Maureen's butt, pushing her back to the floorboards. She then made her way down off the stage to Mimi and they embraced. "How are you feeling, hun?"

            Mimi shrugged. "Okay. You?"  
            "Exhausted, but that's always the case on performance days. So what's up?"

            "Not a thing. Need some help?"  
            "Oh no, darling!" Maureen interrupted, moving once again away from her work. "In your condition, you can't work! We wouldn't think of –"

            "Get back to work!" Joanne yelled. Maureen obeyed, dropping down to her knees. "But," Joanne continued, turning to face Mimi again, "She is right. You can't work when you're pregnant, deary. It's against all my beliefs."

            Mimi bit her lip, taking Joanne's sleeve. "What if I wasn't pregnant?"

            Joanne cocked her head slightly, narrowing her eyes in that intelligent way of hers. "What?"

            Mimi was frowning as they both took a seat on the edge of the stage. "I've been feeling really sick lately and I don't know what's wrong."

            "Have you been to the hospital?"

            "Oh no! If I go to a doctor, Roger will find out, and I don't want him to worry. He's got enough on his mind right now as it is. Better he doesn't worry over Mimi." She shrugged slowly, lowering her eyes.

            "Honey, you've got to go to a doctor. You gotta take care of yourself." She paused thoughtfully, taking Mimi's hand. "What are the symptoms?"

            "Vomiting, fatigue, chills a lot… umm… headaches and pains in my stomach."

            "Geez, girl! Get yourself some help!" cried Maureen, who had crawled up behind them.

            Joanne shot Maureen a harsh glare and then turned back delicately to Mimi. "If you don't see a doctor and get some medicine and find out what's wrong, it may get worse."

            "Worse?"

            "Yeah…. Better to just take the chance of Roger worrying and go get help. We all want you better, honey." Joanne rubbed Mimi's back with sensitivity.

            Mimi nodded. "I'll go later on then…. But, can I help with anything now? Please?" she implored.

            "Well…. Why don't you help us test the sound system?"

            "Sounds good. As long as I can help."

            "Anything I can do?" came a low voice from the side.

            Maureen jumped to her feet, sneering at the man who stood before them. "Sorry, we don't allow hypocritical bigots or tyrannical fascists here, asshole." She folded her arms in a huff, sticking out her tongue at him.

            "Tisk, tisk, Maureen," Benny replied softly, strolling up towards the stage. "I've been extremely understanding with all this shit you're pulling over my head, but I can pull the plug on this whole performance with one little word."

            "You wouldn't!"

            "I won't," he retorted swiftly, "As long as you make nice up there onstage." He turned to Mimi and Joanne. "Evening, ladies. Mimi, what are you doing here?"  
            She shrugged. "Taking a girl's day out. You?"

            "I've come to have a little chat with my favorite performance artist." He grinned at Maureen whose only response was a grunt of disapproval. "Oh come now, Maureen! We've had our differences, but let's put the past aside for now, okay?"

            "Go to hell."

            "Aw, poor little Maureen!" he continued sarcastically. "She doesn't understand that life costs money and she wants everything for free." He rolled his eyes, stepping onstage and approaching her. "Now, let's be civil –"

            "Civil my ass!"

            "No, no. Now, if you're not going to be polite and kind towards me, I may just have to make it so that you can't even perform tonight."

            She shrugged. "I'll do it anyway."

            "No, you won't if you're banned from this lot, now will you?"  
            "Benny!" Mimi cried, looking up at him.

            "You people are freaks! I'm the one who's trying to help and I get scolded like a child!" He turned back to Maureen. "Now, listen to me."

            "Fine," Maureen retorted in a huff. "You got five minutes."

            "I'll only need two. I heard a little rumor around town that you are going to use certain company's names in your little protest tonight. If those rumors are correct, you'd better change the script, because if these certain companies are affiliated in any way with Cyberarts or the Grey's Shops on 5th and 2nd street, you'll be in big trouble."

            "You mean, __you'll be in big trouble," Maureen grunted.

            "That too. Look, I'm trying to do this as nicely as possible. Your little buddies are staying in their apartment for free at the moment because they can't pay their rent. I'm not a bad guy, you understand…"

            "Oh I understand, all right!"

            "Now, now! Let's not get ahead of ourselves. All I'm trying to do is set some guidelines for your protest tonight. I don't give a fuck about your banning turkey and whatnot, but leave the Grey's and Cyberarts __out of this."

            Maureen strutted up in his face. "Is that an order?"

            "You're damn right it is." He pushed her away a little. "If you don't follow these little guidelines, you won't ever be allowed to protest again."

            "And Muffy will lose her estate, right?"

            "First off, it's Allison. Secondly, no, but her father does have pride, damn it."

            "I'm sorry. We're not in any way affiliated with the rich and famous, dahling, so please be so kind as to leave at once," she imitated a rich snob.

            Benny threw his hands in the air. "I should have known better to reason with you, Maureen. It's like talking to a brick wall." He hopped off the stage and looked to Mimi and Joanne for hope. "Well? What do you two think? Who's being unreasonable here?"

            Mimi shrugged and Joanne pulled herself up onstage and stood beside Maureen. They were all three silent.

            "Oh come on! Do I come out as being the devil himself because she pouts and throws a temper tantrum? Mimi, tell me you understand where I'm coming from…."

            Mimi shrugged again. "Sorry, Benny. I don't really understand any of the upper-class workings."

            Benny shook his head, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples gently. "Fine. I try to be nice and here's where it gets me. I should've known better." He began to walk off, but before he was out of the lot, he turned around again, raising his hand and pointing a finger at Maureen. "And don't start another riot!"

            Mark and Roger had decided to ditch Wigfest after only another hour of being there. Mark wanted diversity on this reel of film and had decided to play the tourist for a day. They both agreed to go uptown and stroll around Central Park and just take it all in for a few hours before Maureen's performance that night.

            They hoped a cab, which took them to Columbus Circle, 59tth Street, one of the many entrances to Central Park. The streets in Columbus Circle were littered with confetti and other party flares from this morning's Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. They literally had to step over all the wrapping and papers that were strewn about the ground. Soon, the street-sweepers would be in to scoop it all away and it would be clear for congestion and normal New York traffic.

            Mark's camera was still rolling as they entered the serene park. It was nearly desolate today. Everyone was at home with their families – something Mark and Roger agreed never to do. The loft and those who entered were all the family they'd need.

            "This is a nice change from the drag queens, huh?" whispered Mark with a chortle.

            "Yeah…. It's like we're not even in New York anymore." 

            Roger smiled as they strolled deeper into the park. All the sounds of the city melted away as the park seemed to make them disappear. They could barely even see the tops of the skyscrapers from where they were in the park now. They stopped over a bridge and Roger leaned down, picking up some pebbles and began tossing them sporadically into the lake below. Each stone left a trickle of ripples surrounding it that quivered with the reflection of Mark and Roger, both leaning over the edge to peer into the waters below. Instead of seeing Mark's eyes, however, the camera lens was there. Roger laughed at this image.

            "Don't you ever step out from behind that camera of yours, Mark?"

            Mark looked startled and shrugged, turning the viewfinder towards Roger and getting a tight close-up shot. "Is there anything to see in the real world?"

            "You got me there." Roger rolled his eyes. "What are you filming me for? If you're going to be a world-famous filmmaker, you can't go on filming the dirt of the streets."

            "Is that what you think of yourself?"

            Roger shrugged again, leaning over the railing and giving Mark a perfect profile of the musician's strong cheekbones and curved chin. His eyes looked up towards the sky. "Sometimes, I guess…. What do you think? Am I the dirt of the streets?"

            "Naw, more like the gum under my shoe, I'd say."

            "I'm serious, Mark…."

            "Oh…." Mark zoomed in closer, getting an extremely beautiful shot of Roger's glazed eyes as they looked up at the darkening sky. "No, I'd never say that. I told you before you had real talent. How could you ever be the dirt of the streets?"

            "I dunno…." He sighed, letting his head drop. "I haven't written but a few songs for your film so far…. And I don't think any will do it justice."

            "Why do you say that?"

            "Your films are Oscar-worthy, Mark. How can I compare?" He turned his face towards Mark.

            Mark lowered the camera slightly. "My films are shit, Roger. Don't mock me."

            "I'm not."

            Flicking off the camera, Mark hopped up on top of the bridge, swinging his legs over the edge and sitting comfortably with his hands to either side. Roger laughed, leaning on folded arms against the ledge.

            "So…." Mark attempted to continue. "What do you think Maureen's performance will be like?"

            Roger rolled his eyes. "Who knows?" He chuckled. "Who cares?"

            "She does," he replied with a grin.

            Roger looked up, nodding. "So do you."

            "Not really…."

            Roger threw his head back in laughter and poked Mark in the stomach, playfully. He mimicked his voice, "Not really! Ha! 'Not really' my ass, Mark." He chuckled, ticking Mark's sides. "You still like her."

            "Shut up!" Mark giggled, pushing Roger's hands away. "Stop! C'mon!"

            "Tell me the truth and I'll stop."

            "No way…." He continued to struggle.

            "So, what you said wasn't the truth, huh? Huh?" Roger grinned.

            Mark growled, attempting to stop laughing, but it only made him laugh more. "Okay, okay! Fine! Let me go!" Roger let his hands fall away. "Geez…. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you __liked touching me."

            Roger pursed his lips, winking at Mark. "Maybe I do." Mark held his stomach, gagging. Roger continued, "So…? You do still like her, right?"

            Mark shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do…. I mean, how can I not? I'll never get over her. But, how'd you guess?"

            Roger shook his head, slapping Mark teasingly. "When Maureen stayed with us, your trousers were a little too tight for my comfort."

            "Since when do you study my trousers? And when did you start talking like a 19th century author?" He made a face. "I mean, seriously: __trousers?"

            Roger laughed. "The point was: I knew, and I know now."

            "Well, good for you." He stuck out his tongue, swinging back the other way and sliding off the ledge. Once on the ground again, he turned on his camera. "Close on Roger!"

            "Oh geez…. Not again!" Roger made a face. "Don't you ever want to film anything besides me? I swear like half your films are filled with images of me."

            "You don't like all the free publicity?"

            "Is that what you call it?"

            "That's what it is."

            "Then how come I haven't gotten any gigs lately?"

            "That's your fault." Mark smirked. "Not my fault your music sucks."

            Roger laughed, shaking his head. "I'm glad you find my lack of talent humorous, filmboy."

            "You just aren't trying. Remember how easily 'Your Eyes' came all that time ago?"

            Roger smiled hazily, recalling every moment of that year. "Yeah…."

            "Well? Write like that. Use the things you know. Don't try to write something when you're not in the mood. When you're ready, it'll come to you. You just need inspiration."

            Roger nodded, his tone now serious, "You sure do give good advice…. Why don't you ever advise yourself?"

            "I do. I never listen when I talk."

            Roger laughed again. "Well, I'll advise you then, when you need it."

            "That's every waking moment."

            "Well, what kind of advice to you need now?"

            Mark shrugged and opened his mouth to speak, but before he got the words out, he felt a vibrating in his pocket. He heard a high-pitched beeping noise coming from the same place and his heart stopped in his chest as he reached to pull out Mimi's pager. He'd given her number to the hospital with instructions to page it when the results came in. With quivering hands, he checked the image of flashing numbers on the top of the small, black device.

            "Is it….?"

            "Yeah…."

            Both friends took a deep breath as the silence surrounded them in Central Park. The breeze flew by suddenly; sending cold shivers down Mark's spine. He replaced the pager in his pocket and looked to Roger.

            "C'mon," he whispered softly, "Let's go."

            The hospital was little less than deserted on the darkening November afternoon as Mark and Roger entered the gloomy structure, praying that everything was okay. What a way to find out if you had AIDS or not – on Thanksgiving Day, of all days!

            The doctor was sitting behind a desk in his office when Mark entered, Roger following closely behind. He looked up and smiled, nodding towards both of them. "Hello Mark." He glanced at Roger. "Roger."

            "Hey," whispered Mark, feeling his entire body trembling with nervousness. "Just give me the results so I can go, okay? I can't stand to wait much longer…."

            The doctor nodded, waving them to sit and they did. "I understand, Mark. I just want to tell you that there's plenty we can –"

            "Please, just tell me…. No discussions…. Do I have AIDS?"

            He nodded again, leaning over the desk. "I'm afraid all the tests are pointing to an affirmative answer to that question, Mark. We've thoroughly examined your bloodwork and we found traces of the HIV/AIDS virus in numerous cells…"

            Mark's eyes closed slowly and he felt his head fall slowly until his chin touched his chest. The whole office seemed to melt away and he felt his head swirling with lightheadedness. A thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt himself panting softly for air. His hearing slowly disappeared until he could no longer hear the doctor's soothing voice telling him this awful news. All he heard was a distinct ringing through his head, crescendoing until it made his entire body throb in pain.

            "…and we will run some more tests soon to find out if perhaps we made a mistake. Anyway, at this stage of the diagnosis it's…"

            Grabbing hold of the sides of the chairs he sat in, Mark struggled to remain conscious, but it was painful to do so. The veins in his arms bulged as he squeezed the armrests of the chair with all his might. The beating of his heart slowed greatly until it was nothing more than a dull thumping every ten seconds or so – too slow for a normal heartbeat.

            "….and I know that this can be hard for you to find out, especially with today's holiday and all, but there have been tremendous leaps of progression in this area of science since the disease was first discovered so many years ago."

            Roger shook his head. "How did you detect it so quickly after the fact? Doesn't it usually take years to set in? Mine did…."

            The doctor nodded. "Yes, that's true. However, we've found specific patterns in the bloodwork of patients who have HIV/AIDS. Mark's blood seems to fit right along with those specific patterns, and…." He turned, looking at Mark. "Mark…? Mark, are you okay?"

            "Shit! Mark!" Roger called, grabbing hold of Mark's arms and trying to pull them from the chair's arms. He did so with a slight struggle. Mark fell limply to the floor, writhing slightly as he hit the ground and moaning softly. Roger knelt beside him and the doctor was there as well. "Mark!" Roger turned his eyes to the doctor. "What the hell's wrong with him? You're supposed to be helping him! Goddamn it, help him!"

            "I'm trying!" replied the doctor, taking Mark's wrist in his hand and checking the heartbeat. "Nurse Jonne get in here – now!" He turned back to Mark. "It's all right, Mark. If you can hear me, just slow down and take it easy…. Just take a breath, Mark…. Breathe…."

            "Mark, it's going to be okay," cooed Roger from his other side. "Oh God, please be okay…."

            "Thanks, Roger," whispered Mark as he was helped to sit in a chair on stage left of the 11th Street lot, backstage, "For everything…."

            "No problem, pal," Roger replied softly, sitting beside him. "How're you feeling?"

            "Better." He forced a smile for Roger's sake and pulled his coat around his shoulders for warmth.

            Roger stared at Mark, watching his chest heave slowly for every lethargic breath he struggled to take. He watched as Mark's bloodshot eyes closed briefly, only to reopen moments later and reveal they were worse than before. He'd never seen his best friend in such a state – not even when he'd been in the hospital bed; at least then he'd looked as he should, but now he shouldn't be so bad. He'd gone into some kind of fit and was nearly dying on the floor of the doctor's office after only hearing that he __might have AIDS. They still were not sure, but it seemed all signs pointed to yes. Roger was not convinced, though, since he knew more about AIDS that it seemed that doctor did. However, the doctor had been trying to tell Mark that there were plenty of treatments to try in the early stages of HIV/AIDS diagnosis. Every day they were getting one step closer to a cure that would end the pain of the millions who'd acquired the fateful disease. But, there was no cure now and that was what ate away at Roger. No matter what, he realized that this horrible illness was slowly devouring all of his friends and there was nothing he could do about. Even he himself would one day whither away and die because of it. But, he was not certain that Mark had the disease. All the way here, he'd been trying to convince Mark that they needed a second opinion – one of a better doctor than that – who might explain things differently. Mark had rejected all thoughts of this swiftly.

            But, he wouldn't think of that now. It was nearly time for Maureen's performance, and he was determined not to spoil it for Mark, because he'd begged to see it, even though he should be resting at home.

            "Well, the downside of today is that you still get to see Maureen's protest tonight, Mark," said Roger with a small laugh.

            "Hey! I heard that!" replied Maureen, bounding in from the side and peering out the curtain at the audience of a few hundred who'd gathered to watch. She smirked and jumped around. "Oo! Look at all those people, guys!" She squealed in delight and twirled herself around, but as she spotted Mark with that sorry cock-eyed smile plastered on his face to assure them he was okay, she knew something was wrong. "Mark! What happened, babe?"

            "Do I look that bad?" he asked softly.

            "Well…to be perfectly honest: yes."

            "I've got AIDS," he blurted out suddenly, sending Maureen into shocked silence. Roger jerked his head towards Mark and swallowed, turning away. "No need to hide it from her, Roger…. She should know."

            Roger groaned, but said nothing, opting to let Mark go on with what he felt.

            "Oh geez, honey, I'm so sorry…." Maureen gestured with her hands, but didn't exactly know what to do. "Shouldn't you be at home, honey?"

            He shrugged. "Probably. But if I'm going to die anyway, I might as well get to view another riot of yours so that Benny'll be pissed off." He smirked.

            She giggled, tussling his hair while biting her lip. "That's the Markie I love! But, no one's going to die. If you do, my protest would be a flop! You'd overshadow me! And no one upstages Maureen Johnson!"

            He laughed, leaning back in the chair. "I'll try my best to stay alive until the performance is over."

            "Good! But, you have to stay alive longer than that. If you'd die, who would I tease?"

            "What about Joanne?"

            She made a disgusted noise of disapproval and laughed. "Joanne who?"

            Mark smiled and threw his hands in the air. "If you say things like that, I might just stay alive for a few more minutes."

            Roger stood slowly and walked out behind the stage, leaning against the stairs' railing for support. He didn't need any more problems. One more would set him over the edge and he'd break down for sure. This was enough. Maureen's performance would give him a good laugh and maybe watching Benny try and stop the riot that would surely follow would give him another chuckle. Tonight would be happy no matter what. No one needed anymore bad news. But, he didn't notice that in the audience Mimi stood uneasily with her hand over her stomach, shivering quietly in the crowd. Moments later, as Roger returned to watch Maureen by Mark's side in the stage left area, Mimi rushed out of the lot towards the hospital.

            The audience applauded and ate up Maureen's performance, all vowing never to eat turkey again….that is, until they got home. However, to Maureen, it was a success. Unfortunately, she was unable to start a riot. No matter how much she wanted to annoy Benny and get him pissed, there was only so much she could do with a turkey protest.

            Mark had disappeared mid-show while Roger was engaged in watching the performance. No one had really noticed him as he took his camera – still filming, of course – and headed off out of the lot. He was fed up of sitting around and filming his ex-girlfriend (who was still a lesbian, he reminded himself dutifully) prance around onstage like the star of some washed-up sitcom that thought they were still big. He was tired of waiting around for things to happen and always being the one holding the camera and stepping aside to let events take place in his absence. He was sick of life itself and all the bullshit he was going through. So much had happened in only one month that he didn't know what to do. And then, there was still this uneasy burden hanging over his shoulders – a movie was due in a month and he hadn't figured out what to film. He wanted to use his old footage that he showed a year ago with the whole gang – Angel and all – but had decided against it. He wanted something new and fresh; something vibrant and alive! Now, all he was getting were shots of uneasy 20somethings who didn't know what they were doing with their lives but who complained about wanting more. And through all this, he remembered uneasily that he had AIDS. Mark Cohen: the good boy from a small neighborhood who had always done the right things – he had AIDS! He didn't even think of Roger's advise to seek another opinion. In his mind, he had AIDS, and there was nothing he could do about it. He thought back to his days of high school and suddenly wished he had done everything wrong. If he had been more like Roger, at least he would have gotten this horrible disease by his own doings and not by that event so horrible that he dared not even recall it.

            Mark found himself in Tompkins Square Park, across from the lot where Maureen was performing. The events of Wigfest were now clearing up and there weren't many performers left. But, there was still quite a crowd about. He sighed. He just wanted to be alone for a little while, but it seemed that anywhere he turned, people crowed him out of space and choked the air from his lungs. Then again, he reminded himself that this was New York – people were everywhere here, simply because there was no place else for them to go. He made his way out of the park and just started walking. Turning the camera so that it filmed him head on, he spoke, "Where am I headed…? Nowhere…."

            "Great show Maureen!" cried Collins as he entered with Genie backstage. 

            "I know," she said with a smirk. "Who's this?"

            "Maureen Johnson, Genie. Genie, Maureen."

            "Nice to meet you," Genie said as they shook hands. "Loved the show."

            Maureen bowed graciously and giggled. "Glad for that! Now," she continued, turning around in a circle and looking about. "Where is that girlfriend of mine?"

            "Here, pookie," whispered Joanne, coming up a side staircase, carrying wires and a large black box. She set the equipment down at Maureen's feet. "And there you go."

            "What's all this?"

            "Your electronic crap," she replied with a smile, turning to Genie. "Hey there. I'm Joanne."

            "Hello, I'm Genie." They shook hands and he smiled. "You two are quite a couple. You do all her backstage work?"

            Joanne laughed. "Only because she doesn't do it herself."

            They all laughed. Roger came up swiftly beside them, his voice urgent, "Where'd Mark go?"

            Maureen glanced at the empty chair that he had occupied earlier. "Shit, I dunno…."

            Collins shrugged. "I saw him heading out of the lot a little while ago."

            "What? When?"

            "We saw him about 10 minutes ago," Genie replied. "That was that reddish-blonde you pointed out with the bright scarf, right?"

            Collins nodded. "That's him."

            Roger's face contorted in anger. "Why didn't you stop him?"

            "What? Why would we want to do that?" Collins asked, confused. "Is he in some kind of trouble?"

            Roger sighed, realizing he hadn't told Collins yet. "Yes…. No…. Well, he might be…."

            Maureen whispered to Collins and Genie, "He just found out he has AIDS."

            "You mean, he __thinks he has AIDS," retorted Roger angrily. "That doctor was a fuckin' moron."

            Collins' face recoiled in pain and Genie matched the expression.

            "Well, it's not so bad for him to have a moment of time alone, is it?" Genie asked softly. "I mean, when I found out, I spent a whole year in repression."

            Collins nodded. "Me too. And you too, Roger."

            Roger sighed. "He doesn't even know for sure… And, I'm not sure it's a good idea for him to just be wondering around NYC alone…. Is it?"

            Collins shrugged, patting Roger on the back. "Sometimes, I'd swear you could be his father, Roger. Calm down and take a breath. He's not your responsibility."

            "The hell he's not –"

            "Roger, he can take care of himself," Joanne chimed in gently. "I'd take a while off too if I knew – or even thought – I had AIDS. Being around all these people can't be good for him. He just needs to sort everything out, hun. Take it easy."

            Roger closed his eyes briefly and sat in the chair that Mark had used earlier. "If he's not back within ten minutes, I'm going to look for him."

            Genie smiled. "You __must be his best friend." He bent down to Roger's level and patted his shoulder. "You're a good friend for thinking so much of him, but maybe a few minutes alone won't hurt." He smiled.

            Roger nodded, leaning back slightly. "Yeah, thanks."

            "Hey, where's Mimi?" Maureen asked suddenly. "She was supposed to bring back word from the audience, but I have yet to see her smiling little face." Maureen peered out into the crowd that was beginning to disperse. She withdrew slightly all of a sudden as she spied someone standing near the stage. "Oh gag me!"

            "What is it?" Joanne asked.

            "The scum of the earth himself –"

            "Hap-hap –"

            "—__Benny."

            He climbed up onstage, finishing his greeting once there. "—Happy Turkey Day!"

            "Go away," Maureen said defiantly.

            "Aw, now c'mon, Maureen, don't be like that," he continued, slipping an arm around her. "Aren't you happy to see me?"  
            "The word is __revolted, Benny." She threw his arm off, moving away.

            He rolled his eyes and then found himself staring at Genie. He looked once at Collins, raising an eyebrow. "Who's –"

            "I'm Genie," he said before Benny could finish. "I gather you're Benny." They shook hands.

            "Nice to meet you."

            "Ditto," replied Genie with a smile.

            Maureen stepped between them, pulling Genie away. "Don't touch him, hun. He's got rabies."

            Benny grumbled. "Just because I wouldn't __give you the lot –"

            "He's a uptown boy with delusions of grandeur –"

            "—And then you go and throw a temper tantrum like a –"

            "—Who lives in Westport with all his uptown homies –"

            "—Child without candy!"

            "Fuck you!" the both ended up saying at the same time. With a pause, both of them fumed. "Shut up!" again, at the same time.

            "You know, I've got a good mind to –"

            "To what?" Maureen asked, stepping up to him. "Wanna fight?"

            Joanne rolled her eyes, groaning. "Good Lord…. Such children!"

            Roger stepped in between them and pushed them both to their respective corners. "Both of you – shut up. Maureen, you said Mimi was supposed to come back?" he asked, worried again.

            It took Maureen a moment to cool down before she answered. "Yeah, she was."

            "That's why I came here, actually," Benny whispered, moving to stand beside Roger, but careful to keep his distance from Maureen. "She's at the hospital."

            Everyone tensed and Roger nearly jumped out of his skin. He picked up Benny by the shirt collar, shaking him as his voice trembled, "What happened?"

            "Take it easy…. She just wasn't feeling good and was throwing up. I saw her as I was coming over here to check up on the protest and I took her to the hospital."

            "Is she okay?" Roger asked hurriedly, setting Benny down.

            "I don't know. I –"

            "You left her there when you didn't know if she was okay?"

            "Well, yeah. She told me to go away, actually."

            Maureen chuckled. "She must be fine if she had enough sense to do that."

            Roger paced. "You all go out like planned. I'll go to the hospital and then go find Mark."

            Collins shook his head. "That's an awful lot of responsibility you're taking on, Roger. Can't we help?"

            Genie nodded. "Collins and I will go look for Mark. You take care of Mimi."

            Joanne sighed. "So, we're supposed to just go out and party and not care whether or not our friends are okay? Hell no!"

            "Stay here and wait for Mark, then, in case he comes back," whispered Roger, heading off already. He took off running towards the hospital – a place he was beginning to know too well.

            "So, what the hell is wrong with me then?" Mimi asked Dr. Smith, who stood before her in his white garb, holing a clipboard of information. The papers there contained whatever information she'd told him about what was going on with her – the headaches, nausea, coughing, sweating, etc.

            "I'm afraid I do have some bad news, as these tests proved, Ms. Marquez."

            Mimi just nodded, bracing herself for his words. Before the doctor could say another word, the door burst open, and Roger walked inside, instantly at Mimi's side.

            "Are you okay? Benny told us you were sick, and… God, I didn't even know! What's the matter?"

            She smiled softly. "Nothin', babe. You know me – always sick."

            Roger took her chin in his hand and stroked her cheek with his free hand. "Then why are you here at the hospital?" She didn't reply, but bowed her head. He glanced at the doctor. "What's wrong with her?"

            "I was just about to explain, but she has the right to hear it in private, if she wishes."

            Roger looked back to Mimi, helplessly. She merely sighed and motioned for him to shut the door. As soon as he did so, he returned to her side, taking her hand.

            "I'm afraid that your AIDS infection is worsening, Ms. Marquez." He looked at her squarely, his eyes reading her face. "How long has it been since you've taken you AZT?"

            Mimi froze, looking down at the ground and swallowed, shrugging. "A-a while…."

            Roger's eyes widened. "Mimi!"

            "I was just…. I forgot, okay?"

            "How the hell do you __forget something that fuckin' important?"

            Her face grew angry then as she glared at Roger. "It's not like I don't have enough to do, Roger."

            "But, you can't forget that! Damn it, Mimi, that'll make the difference between life and death!"

            Here, the doctor cut in, "Now, don't worry too much. If she starts taking it again, she'll be fine…. However, the infection, combined with lack of medication, has begun to affect your pregnancy…. We can do an abortion –"

            "Oh God…." she breathed.

            "—Before it's too late, which will help you more. If you don't, you may be seriously affected and perhaps even die while giving birth. If you do go through with this pregnancy, you child __will have AIDS, whether it be as soon as it's born or in later life."

            Roger felt Mimi's grip tighten around his fingers. "Is there anything she can do, besides the abortion?" Roger asked in a whisper. "What exactly is wrong with her?"

            "Her AIDS infection is spreading rapidly through her bloodstream." The doctor sighed. "If she takes her medication again until she gives birth and has a quick delivery, the child will have a better chance of being healthy. But, all the contact with blood during the pregnancy most of the time ensures the child receiving the virus. There is also a chance of her dying from loss of blood during the pregnancy. This does not normally happen, but with HIV/AIDS mothers who've stopped taking medication, it's more common. If she survive, the child will have AIDS and might not make it through the first month of life, depending… You see Mimi, you're already weakened considerably by this – hence the vomiting, weariness, and headaches – and your child has begun to weaken as a result. Not to mention, your high viral load…."

            "Is she going to be okay after the abortion, if she decides on it?" Roger asked. "I mean…is the infection that bad?"

            "I'm afraid it is very bad…."

            Mimi clenched her jaw, letting go of Roger's hand. Fearing expansion of this subject, she spoke. "Okay then," she whispered defiantly. "I'll get the abortion. Just set up a time…." She was attempting to be strong, but she felt her voice fading and quivering.

            The doctor nodded and opened the door. "We'll set up a time at the desk out there," he said while pointing to the mahogany desk before them, down the hallway.

            "Thanks." She watched him leave and slid off the bed she'd been sitting on. She started to follow the doctor out, but Roger grabbed her arm, stopping her. He looked in her eyes and held her there for a full moment before releasing her. She stood, lowering her eyes with a sigh. "What?"

            His eyes burned. "So, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "It's over and done with and there's no more to it? 'Just set up a time', and that's it?" He clenched his jaw, closing the door, so they'd have privacy. "What the hell are you thinking? Don't I get to help decide this?"

            She looked up, her eyes blazing into his. "What's there to decide?" She threw her hands in the air. "You want me to die having this child so that it will live maybe half it's life and then go too, or maybe sooner? Is that what you want?"  
            "No! Damn it, Mimi! That's not at all what I –"

            "Well, there's no other choice, Roger!" she cried, her lips quivering. "What did you expect me to do? I'm dying here and now I have to let our child die too…. All because of me, Roger! Damn it, how the hell do you think __I feel?" She felt tears swelling in her eyes and turned her head away, letting her back face Roger as she pretended to study a picture on the wall. "I-I'm scared, Roger…. I don't know what else to do…."

            Roger stood, silently stunned for a moment before approaching her slowly, letting his arms encircle her waist as he pressed his body close to hers. "God Mimi, I didn't want it to come to this…." His breath tickled her ear and she felt the tears falling. Luckily, he couldn't see them. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of him and admit just how scared she was. "I don't know what I was thinking…. When he said 'abortion', I just lost it, Mimi." He choked on his words. "I guess there's nothing else we can do…. Whatever you want to do, I'll stand by you…." He felt her hands grip his around her stomach, tightly. He could feel them shivering. At this, he became worried and tried to turn her to face him, but she persisted and wouldn't allow it.

            "Don't…. Just hold me, okay?"

            He nodded, letting his head rest against her shoulder, nuzzling her neck. "Okay…." He pulled himself closer to her and they swayed back and forth, as if in a dance.

            Silence surrounded the small patient's room, and for a moment, it felt as if they were the only two in the world – that nothing could touch them. They forgot the problems they were facing and just closed their eyes and felt. It was so much like the first time they'd held each other that it was impossible, at that moment, to discern between the memory and reality.

            "Roger…?" she whispered, turning her head slightly.

            "Yeah?"

            She bit her lip, lowering her soft brown eyes slowly, working up the courage to say what she wanted to. "I-I love you…."

            He whimpered from where he stood and he felt her body twitch slightly at that delicate noise. "I love you, too. I always will."

            She gave way then, letting herself lean back against him, and, holding his hands against her stomach, she cried.

            Mark didn't wander too much farther. He found himself stopping and sitting at the more deserted edge of Tompkins Square Park. Wigfest was concentrated more on the other side, and so there was hardly anyone milling about where he found a drumming table to sit on. He'd let his camera film whatever he happened to pass, which included a few stray drag queens, a group of teens praising the Turkey Protest, and a tour group from Missouri that seemed a little more than lost in the big city. He almost laughed at this. Tour groups always amazed him – how little they actually knew about Alphabet City! From all the BS their tour directors would spit out at them, he wasn't surprised that they'd get the idea that NYC was a place to view, but not live in. How little they knew. As Roger had told him once when Collins had suggested going away, "But you'd miss New York before you could unpack." How unfortunately true. And yet, he sensed that he needed a break from his dismal Village life. Suddenly, the idea of going out of town appealed to him and he found his heart beating rapidly as he jumped into an upright position. He smiled into the lens, holding the camera a little in front of him, and then switched the camera off.

            "Any luck?" asked Maureen, anxious to eat dinner, as Collins and Genie returned.

            "Negative," Collins replied, taking a seat. "I'm about ready to say 'forget Mark' and go get something to eat. My stomach's been naggin' me for hours."

            "I know whatcha mean," Maureen agreed.

            "But, I can't leave until I know Mark's okay…. If Roger's worried, there must be reason __to worry." He looked up in time to see Roger and Mimi coming up towards the backstage area. "Speak of the devil…."

            Roger nodded faintly, helping Mimi to a seat and looking around at them all. "He hasn't come back?"

            "Nope," said Joanne sadly. "The search yielded nothing."

            Genie looked up. "Sorry I couldn't do more. We tried…."

            Roger sighed, turning around. Mimi tugged on his jacket like a lost child. "Where are you going?" she asked softly.

            "I need to find Mark…."

            She frowned but then nodded in agreement. "Yeah, okay…."

            "You all go ahead to dinner. I'll find him." He started off, and, when he turned around, saw that they were still there – unmoving. "Guys, go get something to eat. I'm sure he's just lost track of time…. Don't worry; I'll bring him along in a half hour or so. If I'm not there by then… Well, just don't worry."

            Genie shrugged. "He's right. You all shouldn't starve yourselves waiting for him. He's a big boy, right? Plus, it looks like he's got his best friend at his back."

            Collins and Joanne both concurred in union. "Right."

            Roger began walking aimlessly, just as Mark had only a short time earlier. He didn't even know why he bothered to search for him. Maybe he wanted time alone and this would only make things worse. All he knew was that he wanted to help, because he remembered how much it hurt when no one cared – or, he __thought no one cared – and when he said he wanted to be alone how much he'd really needed someone to talk to. Besides, Mark was known for doing stupid things when caught up in emotion. Although it would never be anything violent towards another human being – maybe some harsh words, at the most – to himself, Mark was brutal. He would berate and chide until there was nothing left and the only alternative would be suicide – a thought that made Roger cringe. Without Mark, he didn't know what he'd do….

            As if on cue, after walking only for a few minutes – perhaps five blocks at the most – Roger saw the familiar scarf dancing in the distance, edging ever closer. Roger leapt forward almost and rushed towards the colors, finding Mark there, camera in hand as always, but not filming.

            "Hey, Roger," Mark said with a wave of his hand and a short smile. "What's up?"

            Roger just looked at him with an odd look of confusion on his face. "__What's up?" he asked sarcastically. "Where the fuck did you go off to?"

            Mark shrugged indifferently, trying to walk past, but Roger stopped him short. "I just took a walk…. What? You mean to tell me that someone actually __noticed? Wow, that's a new one." He chuckled softly to himself. "If I weren't so depressed that would be hilarious, huh?"

            "What?" Roger inquired, puzzled.

            "Oh, you know," Mark replied with a wave of his hand to indicate that he didn't want to say it all. He shrugged again with a hazy half-smile. "Just that you all didn't seem to notice my early departure and that's the way it always is, right? I mean, I'm just Mark Cohen."

            "What are you talking about, Mark?"

            Suddenly, Mark's face was angry and miserable. "Only the fact that no one would care whether or not I died of AIDS."

            "But, you don't even –"

            "I'd just be another statistic of NYC, right? No, don't look at me like you're stunned to hear this coming from my mouth, Roger. You know full-well how my mind works, don't you?" He laughed bitterly. "It's a pity that you don't really know me…. We've known each other for so long, but you don't know me at all. Whenever I'm in trouble, you come to the rescue, though. Good 'ole Roger: there always…except when you need him most…. No, don't try to tell me I'm wrong, because you recall Santa Fe, don't you? Yes, I know you do…. Oh, but you'll tell me that was a bad time and that things just weren't working out so you needed to take a break from it all, right? Well? Tell me if I'm getting things mixed up, Roger, because I'm only a filmmaker: I don't write the scripts."

            "Mark, what the hell are you talking about? Santa Fe was a mistake – a terrible –"

            "Oh no! Not terrible!" Mark's voice was quivering now, as if he were mad. "You don't realize just how wonderful that trip was! I mean, to get away from NYC for just a day…. What paradise!"

            "What are you getting at?"

            "Only that I'm leaving," he replied coldly, fixing his jacket so that it was buttoned.

            "__What?"

            "Yeah, I'm going to Santa Fe."

            "No! When?"

            "Tonight…. Now…. Oh, I don't know – soon, though."

            "Why?" Roger asked, fear held in his usually strong voice.

            "Why?" Mark made a mock noise of disapproval, staring at Roger with anger held in his eyes. "__Why, Roger? God, just look at me! I'm a wreck – mentally and physically! I've been raped, mugged, beaten, hospitalized, and told I have AIDS, and all that within this month! Think what wonders next month will bring…. No, don't even tell me that I'm insane, Roger. Look at me and tell me I don't look like shit! Tell me that my eyes aren't bloodshot from the lack of sleep I get, simply because I'm afraid that I'll be raped again if I allow myself one moment of weakness and vulnerability in my sleep! Fuckin' tell me that I'm not terrified and that you don't know it, Roger, because if you can tell me those things, then do it – before I leave forever…." His voice trailed off weakly.

            "Mark!" Roger cried, moving closer. "I just –"

            "No! Get the hell away from me!" He cried, pushing Roger away swiftly. "Don't you fuckin' touch me…." he whispered more than yelled.

            Roger stared wide-eyed as his own anger set in. "What the hell are you doing, Mark? What's wrong with you?"

            "None of your business…."

            Roger crept closer, forcing Mark to tremble the camera threatening to fall from his hands. "The hell it's not! Mark, we're all scared, okay? You're not the only one who –"

            "Goddamn you!" Mark suddenly cried as Roger stepped closer still. "Please, don't touch me! I'm so fuckin' unstable, Roger…. Don't make me…."

            "Make you what, Mark?" Roger whispered, reaching out his hand and laying it on Mark's wrist, where he quivered. "Punch me? Kick me? What? Do whatever you want, if it'll make you feel better."

            With an exasperated sigh, Mark fell to his knees and Roger fell down beside him, gathering the shivering cameraman in his arms. The camera fell gently to the ground alongside them. "God, Roger…. I didn't want to…. I mean, I could never…I just can't…."

            "I know…." Roger replied softly. "You're gonna be okay, though, Mark…. I promise you. I'll be there for you, always…. We'll get help for you, okay? We'll see another doctor and get another opinion…. That doctor was wrong, and I know it…. Don't believe him…. I'll help you, Mark, I promise…."

            Mark trembled, hugging Roger with all his might. He felt as though he'd lost his mind. Sweeping images of his rape flashed before his eyes until he'd wanted to beat Roger senseless. His mind swirled with pictures of that night and his stomach churned. Suddenly, he felt his body jerk away and he gathered his camera back in his arms, backing away from Roger.

            "I gotta go…." He whispered, breathlessly, tears falling slowly as he started to run off.

            "Hey!" Roger cried before Mark had gotten two steps. "For someone who wants to be a part of society, who's stuck without a sense of true reality?"

            Mark glared, tears dancing in his bright eyes. "For someone who wants to write a song, who's stuck without a sense of what'll matter all along?"

            Roger sneered, turning away. "Fine, Mark! Fuck you…." He folded his arms.

            "Yeah…well, ditto!" Mark retorted, stumbling out of Roger's view.

            Kicking a trashcan over, Roger cursed under his breath, "Shit…."

-----------------More to come soon, in what will probably be the last chapter! wipes a tear --------------

---------Unless, I decide to make this The Neverending Story III ;-) -----------

((whatever happened to those movies?? I thought they "never ended?"))

hahaha….cheap jokes….gotta love 'em


	7. Living in America

****Grrr, I hate when people actually KNOW what they're 

****Thanks to St. Louis – demnable city that it is – for letting me poke some fun at it! It _is_,

after all, my hometown, so I can do what I want. grin****

****Thanks to Charles Dickens, too! ;-) ****

****Gads! I've taken some liberty here, since it doesn't say exactly when Angel dies. I know the 

memorial was on Halloween, so we're going to say two days previous was the death. 

If anyone knows a better date, please let me know! Also, Jonathan Larson's notes are dang hard 

to read (so much like mine!), so I KNOW I misspelled at least one thing from them, and I apologize

for this.****

"I can't believe I'm doing this," whispered Mark as he stood outside of Bethlehem, New Jersey, his camera in one hand – filming – and a cardboard sign in the other, with the words "Santa Fe Or Bust" scribbled on it in black marker. He felt utterly ridiculous with how he was planning to get to his destination. He could've sold his camera to a pawn shop and probably gotten enough money to get a train ticket or maybe bribe a taxi cab driver to take him all the way, but because of his love for that damn machine of his, he was hitchhiking his way to Santa Fe. He found it almost comedic, really, that he was a Jewish boy and he was starting his journey in Bethlehem. He'd paid a few bucks have a taxi take him outside New York and into New Jersey. This was as far as his pocket change would allow him. He hadn't grabbed any clothing, money, or food in his rush to get out of town, and he'd even forgotten – or purposely avoided – saying goodbye to everyone. This ate away at him a little bit, but when he thought of the fight he'd gotten in with Roger, all he saw was red, and he didn't give any of his so-called friends another thought. He felt deserted already on this cold November Thanksgiving night. "Ah, Thanksgiving," he continued softly, "a time of joy and happiness…. Well, fuck that and screw them all! I don't need Roger – I don't need anyone. I got myself and my camera: the only two things I really do require." He remembered faintly, through all his ponderings, that he had a film due next month and that Benny would demand rent about the same time. Three month's rent, to be exact. He wondered how Roger would…. "No!" he chided himself, pacing, "If I keep thinking of what Roger will do now that I'm gone, I'll drive myself insane…. Besides, it's not like he'll really miss me… Who'd miss Mark Cohen, anyway? He's just a little nobody who ran away from home because he couldn't stand the lies and ran away from his best friend because he couldn't stand to die. It doesn't matter what happens to him; he's a static character: never changing, never altering – never _being. He'll die and, on his tombstone, it will say, 'Mark Cohen: Dead Because He Didn't Live'. And that will be all anyone will ever hear about him – not even a little blurb on the news about his untimely – or perhaps, timely is the better word – death." He paused, seeing a car coming down the road a little ways. He would've laughed at the thought of raising a pant leg to show off his thighs for the passersby if he hadn't been so upset at leaving. He flailed his arms but to no avail. The car sped past him as swiftly as if the driver hadn't seen him. It was getting late, too, and it was a holiday. No one would be out driving tonight. He looked around, sighing heavily out of exhausted. He noticed a few deserted alleyways where he could sleep if need be, but the sudden recollection of his last time in an alley caused a thin sweat to break out on his forehead. He began drearily surveying his surroundings with mechanical precision, noting to himself where everything was. "A forsaken avenue on a bitter Thanksgiving night. Lifeless and fatigued, Mark Cohen stands abandoned, waiting for a car to pick him up and shuttle him to Santa Fe: the place for all New Yorkers who hate the Big Apple. Storm clouds bustle above as the poor, wounded filmmaker turns his head to the Heavens, wishing that God was real and that He cared…. The lonely cameraman lets the tiny droplets of rain wash over his face as he talks to no one, everyone, and anything in between. He is a goner before he leaves…. Watch as he dies without ever having experienced life…." He let the camera continue to pan across the environment, catching everything as he was silent in his musings. 'So __what if Roger's upset with me? Why the hell should I care what he thinks, anyway? He's just pissed because I'm leaving town…. I was angry when he left, so it shouldn't make a fuckin' difference.' He berated himself inwardly. 'You're doing it again, Mark', he continued to himself. 'You're thinking about how Roger is reacting!' He let the camera droop and switched it off quickly, but before he could do anything else, a car slowed in front of him. He turned the camera back on._

Roger strummed aimless chords on his guitar under the false pretense of tuning it. In reality, he was thinking. Once again – as always – his thoughts turned to Mark. 'Where the hell are you, Mark?' he found himself questioning silently again. And adding to that, 'Where are you too, Mimi?'

It was now December 24th. On the 2nd of January, Roger was scheduled to go and see Jonathan and was expected to have a film and a soundtrack finished and mixed together. Roger had written two songs, neither of which would work for the film. He had bits and pieces of others, but couldn't understand how to finish them. It seemed that inspiration was drained from his body. Mimi had disappeared sometime after Thanksgiving, leaving Roger completely alone. They'd decided against the abortion, since neither one of them could imagine a life with that kind of regret. She'd left a note, saying she'd gone to stay with her parents for a little while because they needed her. In truthfulness, he knew she needed them and wanted to get away – like everyone else. She'd also been in and out of health centers since Thanksgiving. She found herself getting sicker, and Roger had to force her to take the medication, reminding her that she would not only hurt herself but the baby as well. He'd made her promise to come back today, Christmas Eve. She'd agreed, and he was looking forward to this day for that only. Collins and Genie were going out constantly, but hadn't stated the status of their relationship as anything of importance as of yet. Maureen and Joanne were…fighting. Benny had been by twice, forgetting his promise of waiting until January, to demand the rent be paid. He'd even cut the electricity wire that ran out of the loft in anger. But, Roger had somehow convinced him to wait until January 3rd, just in case the film might be done. Otherwise, he was planning to move out. Mark had been gone over a month now and hadn't called once. Now, though, it really didn't matter if he did decide to call, because their phone would not work without the electricity wire. Besides, Roger didn't feel like talking to Mark. It was nearly Christmastime and if Mark wasn't there so be it.

"Ho-ho-ho!" came deep baritone voice from the hallway and a serious of intricate raps against the door. "Meeeerry Christmas!"

Roger sighed, moving to the door. "Collins?"

"And Genie," he replied with a smile.

As Roger opened the door, they bounded in. Genie held a small Charlie Brown Christmas tree and Collins carried a large paper bag. "We brought decorations!" Genie cried with a smile, setting the tree up in the corner.

Roger raised an eyebrow and shook his head, taking a seat again and settling his guitar on his legs. "No thanks…."

Collins rolled his eyes. "C'mon now, Roger. Don't get in the 'I'm so alone and lost and lonely 'cause Mark's gone' bit again. He'll be back."

"Yeah right."

"Nevertheless, get happy!" Collins cried, holding up a string of lights proudly.

Roger looked up, shrugging. "I hope you're not wanting to put those up here. Benny's taken the liberty of getting rid of all electricity henceforth."

"But, it's Christmas Eve!" said Genie sadly. "Doesn't he have a heart?"  
"Benny? Never."

Genie grinned. "Don't worry! I was an electrician once. I'll have it up and running in no time flat."

"Don't bother," Roger whispered. "No need. There's no Christmas spirit here."

"Hurrmph!" replied Collins, waving Genie on. "Go fix it anyway. The sooner we get lights up, the sooner you cheer up, you grinch."

Genie walked outside as Collins sat beside Roger. Roger shot him a glare quickly. "Don't bother trying to cheer me up, Collins. I'm not in the mood."

"Well, Mr. Scrooge!" he shouted in jest. 

Roger rolled his eyes, a small smile threatening to form. "Bah! Humbug!"

Collins grinned and retorted, "Christmas a humbug! You don't mean that, I am sure."

"I do," he replied, recalling the exact quotations from a favorite novel of Collins' that he quoted nearly every Christmas. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."

"Come, then," returned Collins with a new British accent as he stood to his feet, impersonating Charles Dickens' character to perfection. "What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."

Roger shrugged, turning back to his guitar. "That's enough of that…."

Collins made a face, smacking Roger's arm. "Enough? Never! But, don't deny yourself a moment of fun, Roger. Just because you're miserable doesn't mean Christmas can't be enjoyable."

"It doesn't?" He strummed his guitar, barely paying attention.

"No, and you know it." He shook his head. He cleared his throat, continuing with A Christmas Carol. "Christmas is a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely…"

Roger groaned, strumming louder, hoping to block out Collins' voice.

"…And to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys…"

Roger couldn't help but laugh as Collins snatched his guitar away and raised his brow high, speaking with such a heavy accent that it was hard to make out while raising his voice.

"…And therefore, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it **has** done me good, and **will** do me good; and I say –"

"God bless it!" cried Genie, reentering with a large smile. "Quoting Dickens again, are we?"

Roger shrugged, picking up his guitar again and hiding the smile. "Not I."

"Oh yes he was. But, I started it. And glad I did too! For what is Christmas without Charles Dickens?"

"A good holiday?" asked Roger sarcastically.

"Ah, his humor is in check," whispered Genie, taking a seat on Roger's right. Collins sat again on his left, and so he was trapped as Genie took the guitar away and set it down behind them. "Now, let's decorate."

Roger shook his head in protest. "I told you I didn't want any Christmas cheer around here. I'm too depressed for that."

"It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's? Is that it?" Collins questioned, sliding an arm around Roger's shoulder.

"What?"  
"Another Dickens, Roger!" Genie shook his head, pouting. "If you don't read the book, you'll lose us in conversation. I think he meant to imply that you'd rather us be depressed as well, just because you are. Now, we won't have that! 'Cause we're as selfish as you, and we're going to _make you have a good time, whether you like it or not!"_

"But I –"

"No buts about it," Collins said, tickling Roger's sides. "If you won't let us decorate, at least come to dinner with us."

Roger slipped out from their tight grasp and walked away a little. "No flow."

"Well, my paycheck just came in the mail," Collins replied, standing. "So, now what's your excuse?"

Roger smirked. "I don't want to?"

"Now, that's no way to view our company!" Collins cried, patting Roger's back. "Seriously, come out with us…. Please?"

Roger shrugged. "No thanks…. Mimi's coming home soon and I'd like to be here. Honestly, guys…."

Genie nodded, preparing to go out. "Well, at least I fixed your electric. All's not wasted."

Roger smiled. "Thanks."

"Change your mind, okay?" Collins asked quietly. That one small comment reminded Roger then of Mark and he felt himself turn away, pretending to fiddle with his guitar.

"Yeah…. Maybe later…."

Genie smiled, taking a wreath from the bag. He hung it over Roger's neck. "Merry Christmas, anyway."

Roger laughed lightly, shaking his head as he heard the door shut quietly behind him. "Merry Christmas?" he questioned softly, removing the wreath. "Yeah, right…."

Christmas bells are ringing

Christmas bells are ringing

Christmas bells are ringing

How things change when we rearrange.

No candles, no holidays,

No scarlet bows, no fireplace,

No kind words, no words, no

Away in a manger,

'cause there's no room in the manger!

No room at the Holiday Inn – again.

Well, maybe next year,

Or – when…

"December 24th, 6PM Eastern Standard Time – I can't believe that I've been gone so long…. Time to see what we have time to see," Mark's shaking voice narrated quietly as he entered New York City for the first time in too long. The taxi cab driver shot him a few annoyed looks. Surely the man didn't appreciate a passenger who talked to himself and filmed every single detail. "Watch New York focus into view. See the city as I left it – unchanged by my long absence since last month." He watched, filming silently, as the city sped past him. He hadn't made it all the way to Santa Fe. His first driver had only taken him as far as Tennessee, which was no place he wanted to be, and the second driver had only driven to Missouri and stopped. So, he stayed in Missouri, where things were a lot less expensive, he noted, than New York. But then again, any place was cheaper than New York. He managed to find a cheap apartment to stay in, and he had gotten a few stray jobs to pay for the rent there, which was ten times less than what Benny made him pay. Just when he was starting to enjoy his so called "normal" life, he realized what he was doing and had taken the next car back home. His sudden realization came when he was getting up at 7AM to work at a local television studio as a gofer. It was the third week of his employment there before he became conscious of what he was doing. He was giving in to everything he despised in life. Just to spite the system, he'd skipped out without notifying them of his resignation – if it could even be called that. Minimum wage pay every day was not what he liked to call "work". He'd stayed a little while longer there, shooting film of various places including Downtown St. Louis (which reminded him a little of NY, although it was much nicer) and The Arch. He hadn't been too impressed with anything there and decided to leave. In actuality, he wasn't planning on going back to NYC at all, but, as he felt the snowfall on his frayed and dirty coat, he remembered that he felt more at home with the weirdos of the Village than anywhere else. It was impossible to contain his emotions as he thought of Roger and the gang. Even the thought of Benny made his heart yearn for Alphabet City.

"You get out now," interrupted the cab driver with his thick accent, "Yes?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah. How much?"  
"Twenty dollar."

Making a face, Mark reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty – one of the last large bills from his salary in Missouri. "Okay, thanks."

As he stepped out, a tiny St. Louis snow globe in hand, the car sped away, hopeful to pick up another fare no doubt. He found himself surrounded by familiarities – homeless people squatting down behind a large, deserted building; the rich few from the Upper-East Side milling about on their way home; and the sign of the Life Café a few blocks down, calling his name. He smiled softly, turning the camera off. Ignoring his stomach's request for food, he made his way straight home, deciding he wanted to see the loft first, before he did anything else. He felt his nerves tense as he stood before the door, scared to place his hand over the knob and walk in – afraid of what the confrontation with Roger would be like. Was he still upset? Hell, Mark didn't even know if _he was still upset, or what he'd been upset with in the first place! All he knew was that he didn't want another fight…. As he was about to open the door, he heard the sound of singing coming from inside. Roger's voice, accompanied by his lonely acoustic guitar, playing a song that Mark hadn't heard before…._

"I am lost,

forsaken and tossed

among the very souls

whose once tormented pose

anguished forever in sorrow.

I am gone –

Laid out as they mourn:

Those who never knew

Anyone but who

I showed them in my mirror.

Dissalusioned,

I stand abandoned

By those individuals

Who drew my standards

And set my life in motion.

What's wrong with me?

Why do I feel so lonely?

A craving for life

Lives in my soul.

A craving for love

Lives in my heart.

Deep in this twisted mind of mine,

I feel a vortex churning.

There's only one me for all eternity,

And I despise myself….

I wanna break free, but I'm too weak,

I wanna give a speech, but I can't speak,

I wanna let go, but I'm still holding on –

I guess that's life.

Why, why can't I

Just be me,

And why can't I see?

Every time I look around,

I know it's true –

I'm a sham…."

Instead of continuing where the song left off, Roger's fingers slipped on the chords he was trying to play, and he fumbled quite a few times for the right notes, but always he struggled in vain and produced far worse noises than if he'd simply have given up and stopped. Finally, he did just that, and flicked his pick hard across the strings of the guitar, emitting a foul clamor from the instrument, which was, as always, not tuned. From outside, Mark heard a few mumbled curse words and smiled, pushing the door open.

Roger didn't turn as he heard the door open. He just smiled, thinking Mimi had returned. Setting his guitar down quickly – thankful for not having to try and write that song anymore – he jumped to his feet and spun around, only to find Mark instead of Mimi. His astonishment was apparent as his eyes widened and his breath faltered. Mark stood there, holding his camera at his side in his right hand, the other hand still fixed to the doorknob, though he was fully in the room and there was no sign of Roger's anger to kick him out. The black-and-white scarf hung listlessly around Mark's neck and his bright eyes gazed at Roger from behind those square-rimmed glasses with that same naïve quality that Roger had come to adore about the kid before him. His scraggly reddish-blonde hair was disheveled more than usual and had grown slightly so that it looked like he was a bum off the street. His clothing was the same as always, covered by that same faithful plaid jacket he wore day in and day out. The thin smile that Mark always managed to keep plastered on his face flashed quickly before him but disappeared just as fast. He could tell the filmmaker was nervous, but so was the songwriter.

"Hey…." whispered Mark, waving quickly, for lack of something better to do. Roger's stare and inactivity left him unnerved, to say the least.

Finally, Roger moved, but only to turn back to his guitar, fiddling with the strings. "Hey. You're back?"

Mark nodded, only now shutting the door. "Yeah." He walked forward and set his camera down on the table, if, for nothing else, to get a better look at Roger and gauge his reaction to the surprise return of his (former?) best friend. He leaned closer to Roger, pushing his head into his view with a large grin. "Miss me?"

Roger's only reply was a shrug as he picked up his guitar, taking a seat back on the table again and strumming it.

Mark rolled his eyes. "I missed _you, y'know…."_

"You didn't call."

He dropped his gaze, defeated. "I tried…"

"Sure." Roger played some arpeggios.

"I did, Roger. I really did."

"I didn't hear the phone ring." He kept his gaze to his fingers, making sure they hit the right strings.

"It was disconnected or something."

Roger looked up, missing a note or two. "The phone's been out for a few days now."

"What happened?"

"Benny…"

"Why? I thought he was –"

"He cut the electricity wire after I refused to pay rent…. Not that I had a choice. I'm broke. And with the film…." He trailed off, shrugging. "I didn't see any money coming in the future either."

Mark sighed heavily, sitting beside Roger. "I'm sorry…. I will finish the film. I got some great footage from –"

"That's great, Mark," Roger interrupted swiftly, trying to act indifferently.

Mark looked over at him, studying his one-time best friend with interest, wishing he could take out his camera and capture that look…. Suddenly, he wasn't sure why he was not filming and grabbed up the camera, turning it on. He trapped the very essence of Roger's anger and pain in the one tight close-up. And then, to make the shot complete, Roger turned, craning his neck slowly, those dark eyes imploring Mark to turn it off, as the shadows danced across his features. Mark was taken aback immediately.

"Don't do that," he whispered while his eyes blazed.

"Do what?" asked Mark quietly.

"Film me. Just….stop. If you're going to hide behind it, find someplace else to do it. I'm tired of it."

Mark let the camera drop as he frowned, sliding off the table. "I see time has not healed whatever wounds you had when I left."

"Ditto."

"What's _that supposed to mean?"  
"Figure it out." Roger strummed aimlessly again._

"Roger," Mark said earnestly, moving to stand in front of him, "I'm home. Can you honestly say you don't' want me here? If so, I'll leave."

Roger didn't look up, but continued playing the instrument in his hands, silent.

"Fine then," said Mark angrily. "I came to say I was sorry…. I guess I'll go back to –"

"Don't' go…" Roger was looking up now, facing Mark. He shrugged, exhaling, setting the guitar down. "I'm getting as stubborn as you…. I did miss you…."

Mark smiled happily but his frown persisted. "You know I had to leave, right?"

"Yeah…. I remember that _I needed to leave."_

"It really cleared my head, y'know? I mean, it felt like I was actually _doing something, rather than sitting here filming myself talking to walls. I took initiative and did what I needed to do for once. I survived, amazingly enough, and here I am – back to the drawing board, as they say."_

"Didn't find what you were looking for in Santa Fe?"

"Didn't make it to Santa Fe," he replied with a chortle.

"Where've you been then?"

He shook his head, clearing his throat. "Missouri," he whispered, almost inaudibly, more than slightly embarrassed.

Roger's head fell back with laughter. "I won't ask…." He stood up, placing his guitar on the table. Turning around, his face was entirely somber, his eyes dancing. "Don't ever do that again."

"Do what?" Mark asked in distress.

"Leave."

Mark dropped his gaze with a childlike naïve quality. "Oh…." He shrugged, lacking a better action. "Okay."

The corners of Roger's lips curved gently into a smile and he nearly jumped towards Mark, sucking him into his strong grasp for a hug that would squeeze the very life out of the little filmmaker. "I missed you!"

Through false coughs, Mark spoke, laughing, "I said, okay! Don't molest me!"

Roger chuckled, wedging Mark's head between his elbow and chest, scratching the top of the cameraman's head with his fist so that his hair was even more disheveled than it had been – if that is imaginable. "Molest you? Not tonight, honey."

Mark struggled, trying with all his feeble might to push Roger away. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"You left!" he cried through laughter, continuing the rough routine.

"I'm sorry! I swear, I really am!" Mark's face was lit up as much as Roger's now. Neither of them had been so happy in a long while.

With one swift motion, Roger released Mark and they stood: Mark panting from his obvious effort to free himself and Roger grinning like an idiot. Finally, they both calmed down and took seats beside each other on the table.

"Gee," said Mark quietly, "I can't believe I ever left this place."

"Missed it?"

"Hell yeah…. I mean, what do I want with cheap rent, good food, and a steady job that pays good?"  
Roger smirked. "To hell with that. You'd rather have expensive rent for a low-quality, rat-infested apartment; bad food which costs an arm and a leg; and an insecurity of not knowing if you'll ever even get a job, much less keep one."

Mark nodded. "Here, here!" After another moment of silence, Mark nudged Roger with his elbow. "What was that song you were writing?"  
"What song?"

"The one I heard as I was snooping outside the door," he replied with a smile.

"Oh…. Just something new, I guess."

"What's it called?"

"Doesn't even have a title. It was just ramblings…."

"It was good." Mark nudged him again. "Seriously."

"Yeah?"  
"Yeah. Really good."

Roger shrugged. "Haven't written too much since you left."

Mark nodded. "I figured. Well, get to it, songwriter," he said as he stood to his feet.

"You're not leaving are you?"  
"Naw, just resituating." He smirked, pulling up a chair and sitting on it so that the back part was against his chest and his legs came around either side. "Now, write!" he cried, waving his hand like a movie director.

Roger grinned, picking up his guitar. "Good to have you home, Mark."  
"Good to _be home."_

Mark smiled at Cindi as he entered the building, holding a reel and his camera, Roger following steadily behind him. Cindi smiled back as he approached.

"Hey…."

"Hey," she replied coyly. Suddenly, she frowned. "A while back I heard you got hurt, but I was too scared to call…. You okay?"

He laughed. "Oh yeah…. I'm just sorry I never called you back. But, we could…uh, that is, if you want to…reschedule our… umm…"

"Date?" she interposed.

"Yeah," he chuckled, blushing.

"Love to! I mean…that is, if you want to…."

Roger rolled his eyes. "He'd _love to, believe me." Mark jabbed him with his elbow. "Ouch!"_

"Alright, out with the small-talk and in with the film!" cried Jonathan, sitting lazily with his legs over the armrests of his new leather chair, as they all sat in his office.

Mark smiled brightly, dimming the lights and taking a deep breath. This was it – the moment he'd waited for all his life. His movie would finally be produced (he knew Jon would like it), and Roger's music was nearly all completed. "As I explained before," Mark began quietly, "Roger's not totally done with the soundtrack, but he's damn close, ain't he?" He glanced at Roger who nodded affirmatively, smiling.

"He's got time yet," replied Jonathan, swinging his long legs freely as he leaned back to rest, watching the white projector screen that was set up before them. "Shoot, Mark."

Nodding his assent, he turned the projector on. A scratchy film title popped up on the screen, jumping around as it flashed the words "Living In America". As he took a seat beside the machine, he heard his own voice narrating in that soft tone of his over the pictures: "We begin: December 24th, 9PM Eastern Standard Time – Christmas Eve, 1996. First shot, Roger, turning the fender guitar, which, at that time, he hadn't played in a year. It won't tune, so we hear," he chuckled. "This was after half a year of withdrawal from April Vancouver's death by suicide. As you can see," a note flashed onscreen, cemented with tears, "she left only this note, which said 'we've got AIDS' before slitting her wrists in the bathroom…." Here, a long pause was inserted to show a few clips of Roger and April hanging out in Central Park. They giggled and played around the fountain, splashing each other with water. As a beautiful song played in the background (called "Another Time, Perhaps"), there was a very animated scene with Roger talking to April:

April: "Roger, stop!" (as he throws water upon her and she feigns anger)

Roger: "Never! Just try and stop me from stopping, little girl!" (as he takes her in his arms, holding her already thin body against his own, which, at that time, had been strong and muscular)

April: "You're such an awful boy, Roger! An asshole, even!" (as she pressed her hands against his chest, drawing ever-nearer to his face)

Roger: "Am I?" (softly, as their lips meet for a passionate kiss)

Jonathan frowned sadly at the images of his sister flashing before him on the screen. These were days gone by – when she'd been so alive and beautiful…. Even though in the film he saw how thin she'd become, he saw that pretty little girl who he used to race around the block as a child; the girl he'd stolen roller skates from, because she teased him about his curly hair; and the girl who'd never been able to handle her emotions….

"The scene fades away to her funeral, only a few days after that ardent embrace. The funeral is dark and gloomy and Roger is not present – he sits at home, sobbing into the couch where she once sat so many times. He does not show up as her body enters the ground…." Another long pause before the colors shifted abruptly to a picture of Mark, laughing and dancing with Maureen. "And now a moment of reflection upon old relationships with Maureen Johnson and our narrator, Mark Cohen, as they dance the never-ending Tango Maureen!" The scene suddenly came in with sound – a song written especially for Maureen entitled "The Tango: Maureen" (it was Mark and Joanne's idea).It was in the loft. Maureen wore that black-and-white scarf along with her hair in a high ponytail, crimped to die for. Mark wore that same coat, but his hair was longer and scraggly and he looked even more youthful as he jumped about her.

Maureen: "Betcha can't take this scarf from my neck, kid!" (teasingly, as she dances around him, tickling his ears with the fringe)

Mark: "What if I can?" (biting his lip and quirking a brow)

Maureen: "Then, I'll give it to you!" (as she runs across the room, hiding behind the couch, crouching like a tiger and waving her butt towards him as if she had a tail)

Mark: "I accept your challenge, then!" (as he bounds towards her, tackling her on the ground. The cameraman – that is, Roger for once – struggles to catch all the action.)

Maureen: "Ugh! Get off me!" (playfully, as she pretends to struggle and push him away)

Mark: "You promised…." (with a seducing air about him, he slides the scarf off her neck slowly, finally pulling his lips to hers and it's easily noticed that it's an _extremely fervent liplock)_

"Now, fade straight – and I use the term loosely – into a kiss shared by that same diva, but now accompanied by her lesbian lover, Joanne Jefferson." A shot of one of the more hungered embraces shared by the two lovers was shown, briefly, before cutting to one with Maureen and Benny locked tightly in a hug, followed by one with Roger and Maureen performing a skit where they had to kiss (which ended up looking more like making out than "rehearsing"), and followed by a kiss to Collins. "As you can tell, she gets around. As for Mark? He's got the scarf!" A triumphant shot of Mark holding the black-and-white rag in his hands was inserted. The shot also included Mark dancing about gaily, waving like a moron towards the camera.

Looking up, Jonathan smiled softly to himself, noticing the scarf still slung loosely around the director's neck with all the grace of an uptown broker and all the shabbiness of a Village chef. He could only notice swiftly, for Mark pointed him back to the reel.

"Now, cut back to that fateful night December 24, 1996, where Benny enters, demanding rent!" This part, filled with rough guitar licks, was vibrant and alive. The conversation between Benny and the gang brought back fond memories:

"What happened to Benny – what happened to his heart and the ideals he once pursued?"

"Any owner of that lot next door has a right to with it as he pleases –"

"Happy birthday, Jesus."

"The rent!"

"You're waisting your time –"

"We're broke –"

"And you broke your word. This is absurd!"

"There is one way you won't have to pay…"

As the conversation continued, Roger sighed to himself. This was like a wonderful dream to him. He barely thought of these old times now, and it was good to relive them, especially with Mark showing the reels. He glanced at Jon in time to see laughter emitted from a happy face, contorted with bliss. Jon was in Heaven, or somewhere close by. As Roger turned back to the film, he could hear his music floating through the air like a thick blanket, ready to cover the world. He was in Heaven, too.

"…Or group hugs?"

"Which reminds me, we have a detour to make tonight. Anyone who wants to can come along."

"Life support's a group for people coping with life – you don't have to stay too long…."

That voice! It brought back so many memories that Mark hardly wanted to see them all relived before his eyes. The next shot was held on Angel and dates appeared below the content face.

"Angel Dumott Schunard: 10/05/72 – 10/28/96: 'Today For You, Tomorrow For Me. Living as he wanted to, he became a legend in his own right. If ever there was a best friend, Angel was he.'" A short pause as the music shifted to a gentle acoustic melody, haunting with Roger's voice hazily in background.

_"If even one was so close to me,_

_You would be he._

_If ever I was to choose a perfect girl,_

_You were she._

_And through it all, you helped us all_

_Get through the darkest nights –_

_Helped us through our fights –_

_And left among the lights;_

_Bright, in their own rights…."_

A lively shot was inserted of their first encounter with Angel at their loft.

"It was my lucky day today, on Avenue A, when a lady in a limousine drove my way. She said, 'Darling, be a dear – haven't slept in a year! I need your help to make my neighbor's yappy dog disappear. This Akita, Evita, just won't shut up! I believe if you play nonstop that pup will breathe its very last high-strung breath. I'm certain that cur will bark itself to death!'"

Mark had to wipe a tear. God, Angel had been so alive then. She'd been so spirited and giving and just everything that she could've been and more. He heard Jonathan's laughter as Angel's story continued and saw Roger smiling sadly to himself, caught up in the memories.

"….For sure as I am here that dog is now in Doggie Hell."

The tone with which Angel spoke had Jonathan laughing and crying all at once. Although he hadn't even known the beautiful drag queen who died too young, he felt he did. The way she spoke and acted brought back fond memories of when he used to hang out with Roger and April some weekends, where they'd walk around the Village and poke fun at life itself. Here was a prime example, right before him, of a man who hadn't been afraid to be himself and live as he wished.

"As our memory of Angel survives to this day as the one who helped us all understand the meaning of life," Mark's voice continued in the film, "we go back to that night once again to show another kind of happiness. Two lovers meet and, unbeknownst to them, are caught on video sharing a tender moment as a riot is begun and a Christmas tree goes up in flames…." The vision on screen was that of Roger and Mimi, slowly moving to touch lips and kiss – such a gentle, sweet kiss. Roger's smile reappeared on his face, as did Jon and Mark's.

More scenes flashed on screen – moments of laughter, triumph; of hatred and despair; of pain and of glory: Roger's trip to Santa Fe; Mimi's near-death experience; the news of pregnancy and happiness; Mark's hospitalization….

Mark: "Close on Roger…" (camera drops suddenly to a white sheet, but conversation continues) "Ha! Imagine that… You were right…"

Roger: (camera resumes footage, focused on Mark) "Zoom in on Mark, who pretends to be strong to impress Roger, but it never works." (now, jokingly) "Here, in the flesh, I present to you Mark Cohen: the leader of a cult movement of underground porno videos – homemade, you know! – that feature not only the controversial filmmaker but his lesbian counterpart, Maureen Johnson, as well!" (a few cheesy zooms in and out are inserted)

Mark: "Shut up, Roger." (while laughing)

Roger: "Ah, the truth comes out! Do you deny or come out with it?"

Mark: "I plead the fifth." (smiling gently)

Roger: "That's as good as saying, 'I'm guilty', Mark." (camera sways)

Mark: "No, no… Keep filming. If I can't do it, someone's got to."

Roger: "What shall I film, Mr. Filmmaker?"

Mark: "Life." (quietly, gently)

More scenes of intimacy and humor; of arguments and tears; and of love: until the film reel began to shorten considerably. Finally, it was present-day footage from Mark's trip to Missouri. Roger leaned forward, sitting on the edge of his chair, as he listened to Mark talk to himself as he hitchhiked.

"…It doesn't matter what happens to him; he's a static character: never changing, never altering – never _being. He'll die and, on his tombstone, it will say, 'Mark Cohen: Dead Because He Didn't Live'. And that will be all anyone will ever hear about him – not even a little blurb on the news about his untimely – or perhaps, timely is the better word – death." Then came footage of Mark's tired face, outside the big city of St. Louis. "Here I am…. No, this is not Santa Fe, no matter who's watching this. I never made it there. No drivers felt like making the trek, I guess. At any rate, I am in St. Louis, Missouri, which is…umm…a lot of…umm… Well, there are trees, anyway." At the pause in the narration, Mark heard laughter surrounding him from Jon and Roger, and he smiled contentedly as the film continued to show his gofer job and then switched again to show his travels home._

Roger watched in awe. This was, by far, Mark's best film yet. It was so beautifully composed, and even his own music sounded good meshed with it! The only thing he was concerned about was Mark's brutal honest. Mark told everything suddenly like it was, and there was no lying involved – no covering up or trying to hide anything; Mark's emotions were bared freely on camera: something that could get the filmmaker in trouble, if he wasn't careful. When had this change so quickly occurred in Mark? – he wasn't quite sure.

Soon, there were shots of life on the streets, of times gone by and of days at present. Everyone was involved – from Benny's dismal sense of humor and angry disposition to Maureen and Joanne reconciling from their latest romantic tiff to Mimi's return and Roger's tears of joy as they held each other to Collins and Genie sharing their first kiss under a patch of stars on Christmas Day, and finally to Mark, sitting alone as the camera filmed him as it was set up on the tripod. Roger glanced quickly over to the director (who was wrapped tightly in his film, oblivious to the world, as usual) and shook his head in disbelief of the man before him. When had Mark become so brave?

Mark's voice was soft and caring as he spoke, facing the camera, "Love equals Art equals Disease equals Pain equals…Life. In our desewntised society, the artists, the bohemians, poor, discarded, 'others', recovering addicts – all are more in touch with their human-ness than the so-called mainstream. Despite everything – Humanness, Love, Life, ART – _survives."_

In the midst of a heavy rock anthem, clips were shown of all the friends at different times.

Roger: "How the hell do you walk around in those things [heels]?"

Angel: (smiling) "Walking is the least of my problems; I've always had good balance. I also took four years of martial arts, which taught me to always walk on the balls of my feet. Walking on heels just shifts your weight, your center of gravity, forward. You throw your hips forward and arch your back. You try!" (Angel proceeds to help Roger walk as if he's in heels, which causes Roger to look ridiculous, and they both laugh)

New scene:

Collins: (as he's being interviewed by Mark) "Only one of my friends who is HIV-positive has actually seen it [Mark's movie]. I was nervous, because he's having a hard time dealing with the issues himself. He had been away from New York for some time and had left because all his friends were HIV-positive and everybody had a drug problem or some kind of trauma. When he came back to New York, "everything," he said, 'felt so strange to me here, because I used to be king of the streets, and now I'm this guy who feels sort of alien.' After he saw the movie, he said, "It feels like I'm back home again. You know the best part about the movie, and you should tell the director this, is that it's not about death, it's about hope, and that's the greatest thing I could have ever seen.'"

New scene:

Maureen: (as she's being interviewed by Mark) "My performance/protests? They're just about people trying to live their lives with passion and creativity and love. It's the struggle to get it all in time, and to see through your dreams. That's anybody and anytime. I think that's what's going to save it from anybody who has close-minded ideas is that once they stand before me and the performance starts, they can't resist, because I'm me, and I will seep through the pores, and they're going to have to feel something!"

New scene:

Joanne: (sitting down eating pizza in her office, drinking coke out of a Sbarro's cup) "My comments on your movies? I got nothin' to say that you don't already know, Mark, but I'll say this much: your films are the perfect example of what we are as people. Angel once told me, when she first saw one of your little films, 'You're all such a beautiful rainbow of humanity.' I love all these people, you know – all our friends. I still don't know many of their resumes, but who the hell cares? The first several weeks of friendship, those conversations never came up. We talked about real things, we talked about life, but we never talked about all that junk. That's what your movies do, Mark – they show life as it is: no bullshit and no lies – just an ungodly romantic life. How's that for you?" (adds a wink at the camera, sucking in her straw) "If that don't get you a freakin' Academy Award, I don't know what will."

New scene:

Maureen: (standing beside Mimi, faking anger with a playful tone) "So, you think my job is easy, huh? Well, give it a try bitch! Be my guest." (waves her hand, giving Mimi the podium)

Mimi: (clears throat proudly and steps up, poking fun at Maureen by acting exactly like her) "We aren't these little minstrels, we are _act-tors! We're __required to be disciplined; it's a lot of work." (wipes brow, faking sweat) "It's emotionally… spiritually… physically – __demanding, and we have __earned our right to be recognized for it, to have a living where we are self-supporting and have a chance to take care of our bodies, damn it!" (takes a breath, calming. Smiles into camera) "The best way for me to keep it real and basic is to remember that I have an incredible core of human beings –" (waves to Roger, Collins, Angel, and Maureen who all watch) "–who have shared this experience with me and whom I love dearly." (faking tears) "What keeps me rooted… is the feeling that my job… is an __exceptional job for today. If I keep it really focused on what I'm doing in the show right now, it's like a prayer. It's work, but it's about something. There's a spirit behind the drama, and that's what our lives are about." (breaks down, crying. Roger enters and pretends to carry her offstage while the others clap)_

Roger: (becoming Mark) "My poor Maureen!" (laughter behind the camera is heard, as a hand appears and smacks Roger's head) "Ouch!"

Mimi: "I'll be okay… Just let me have my lesbian lover by my side…"

Roger: (pretending to throw an imaginary scarf behind neck, angrily) "Damn you, Maureen! Curse you and your lesbian ways!"

Joanne: (entering, sitting beside Mimi) "Oh, my poor pookie!"

Mimi: (sexy, deep-throated voice) "Kiss me."

Maureen: (enters, breaking them up) "Ah! The play is over!" (palm over camera lens)

New scene:

Benny: (being interviewed by Mark) "Wow, Mark. I'm surprised you'd want any kind of account from me, but I'll give one nonetheless." (clears his throat, very serious) "Mark, your approach is unlike any other approach I've experienced. At the time I first met him –" (he changed, unknowingly to third person) "–it was a little annoying. He would say, while filming us, 'I don't know what I'm doing either; I'm just going to take time to grow.' He was always dancing around, and he –" (here, Benny's voice cut out and Roger's came in, speaking for Benny, but it was quite obvious it wasn't Benny speaking, since the voice and mouth action didn't line up) "–is the greatest guy I know, and – hell! – I'll let him and his gorgeous roommate Roger stay at their apartment for free! I'm really an asshole, even though I may sound nice. In fact, I'll probably take back this promise in a day or so." (here, Benny was smiling happily) "If not sooner. I'm handsome and attractive, huh?" (then, Benny's voice cut back in) "Is that all you need Mark?"

Mark: (turns the camera to face him, giggling) "Definitely."

Benny: (from off view) "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Hey, what are you gonna do with that film?" (loud stomping as the camera falls to the floor. Benny and Mark's legs are visible as Benny talks) "You'd better not do anything like –" (camera cuts off)

New scene:

Maureen: (interviewing Roger, holding the camera) "Now, this is a surprise for Mark when he edits this and finds this extra little footage here, so play nice."

Roger: (being interviewed while holding his acoustic guitar) "I'm always nice." (smiles)

Maureen: "Yeah, right. Anyway, what do you think of Mark's films?"

Roger: (smiling brightly) "They're amazing – every last one of 'em. They don't speak for a generation, they speak to a generation. And to everybody else, because it's such a moving and genuine thing that Mark does when he films. It's not a Pepsi commercial. I think if you at all are a film fan, music fan, theatre fan, or just a fan of life, you should just give thanks to Mark for what he does…. This energy that I see when I watch Mark's films – it's real, it's us, it's life! The energy we all bring into our connections transfers to all who see us. Do we love each other as much as this film hints at? Hell yes!" (smirking) "As for Mark himself? I love the boy. He may be a hypocritical hide-and-seek kid, but I love him as much as life itself." (Maureen giggles) "Yeah, yeah, shut up Maureen. As cheesy as I sound, I bet Mark's grinning his ass off right now as he views this, ain'tcha Mark?"

New scene:

Mark: (sitting alone again, same shot where he films himself from the tripod) "And so, you have it. Living In America isn't about death or wasted years or empty days and nights – it's about love and connection; communication and diversity; passion and friendship – and all the hell that lies between…. In these dangerous times, where it seems that the world is ripping apart at the seams, we can all learn how to survive from those who stare death squarely in the face every day –" (images flashed on the screen as he spoke – April, Benny, Angel, Maureen, Mimi, Joanne, Roger, and all of them together) "–and [we] should reach out to each other and bond as a community, rather than hide from the terrors of life at the end of the millennium."

As Mark's voice died out, a song entitled "Living in America" played out, ringing true and loud – passionate in every essence. Then, the film reel flickered and died away. Jonathan smiled.

~~One last thing before I say that this little (and I mean that loosely) story is done with: I used quotes (almost exact quotes) from the RENT book (y'know, the big, black, hardcover one) for the interviews with Mark's friends. I also used quotes of Jonathan's for Mark's narrative here at the end. That was all just for tribute, and it got a little sappy, I know, but I enjoy sap. innocent smile What can I say? I made sure to make each characters quote was attatched to the performer who portrayed them (ex. Roger's quote about Mark's film is actually something Adam Pascal said about Jonathan Larson, changed only slightly to fit what I wanted to say), with the exception of Mark who had Jonathan's quotes. Okay! That's it! You can all get some rest now…. Seriously…. No, I mean it…. Go!…. Why are you still reading this…? C'mon now, I said go away…. chuckles K, I'm done! Too much writing has made me weary…. But I'm done!~~

THE END 

****Or is it? Let me know if you want more, 'cause if you do, I'll write more! I've grown so attached to this story! 

wipes a tear But seriously, let me know if you want more or want me to leave it be. smile****


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